


The Heart of Light

by saraubs



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: AU, M/M, Soldier AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 53,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraubs/pseuds/saraubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec, a wounded soldier, moves back to New York to heal and get over his love for his squad mate, Jace. While there, he meets Magnus Bane, the promiscuous and seemingly callous eyes and ears of the city. Will the two be able to heal each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. Not even my socks. And especially not a puppy. 
> 
> Previously published at fanfiction.net under valiantmongoose
> 
> enjoy!

Chapter One: Alec

Center for the Intrepid: Military Amputation and Burn Rehabilitation Unit, Texas

There were goldfish in the outdoor pond at the Center for the Intrepid. Eight or ten of them. They liked to swim back and forth, starting at one end of their makeshift home, fluttering past the water lilies, then around the speckled toads, under the bridge that has become my safe haven, and out the other side. When they first heard the weight of my feet on the sanded boards, they propelled themselves toward the surface, merging together into one massive lump of aquatic frenzy. Once they devoured all the food I provided, they paid little attention to my legs, which dangled over the side, casting shadows above their heads.

That fascinated me – the fact that they all rushed toward this foreign noise. I mean, it shouldn't have, because really, what fuels a fish beyond the need to eat, mate, and repeat, ad infintinum? Still, it drew me back, day after day, the fact that those fish could do something that terrified me.

Dr. Baelish noticed that I had taken an interest in the pond, and wanting to do anything he could to keep me "engaged and enthusiastic about rehabilitation", he gave me a book on pond maintenance. Beyond learning how to construct and care for my own private pond – not that I'd ever be able to keep one going year-round in New York – I actually learned some interesting things about goldfish. Most importantly, as their behavior toward the sound of my characteristic limp indicated – they do not have a memory of only three seconds. So, for any people out there – like my sister Isabelle, for example – who feel the compulsion to make ridiculous faces in front of your fish tank at six second intervals, your goldfish thinks you're just as insane as I do. Though I can understand why a myth like that would circulate; sometimes it's comforting to believe that it's possible, somehow, to completely erase everything that's happened and start over immediately.

Even though I can hear his signature shuffle long before he enters the room, Dr. Baelish insists on announcing himself whenever he arrives. Claims he doesn't want to take me by surprise. But a little surprise would be welcome at this point. I'm pretty sure I would run after a hell monster with a feather staff if it meant I didn't have to sit through one more hour of the Home and Garden network.

"Alexander?" he says softly, after two sharp knocks.

"Come in," I reply, grabbing a bottle of water off my food tray – it still takes a few minutes for my voice to work properly. Like the rest of my body, it hasn't really gotten a chance to be properly worked out lately.

After taking a quick peak beneath my bandages and twisting my leg at just about every possible angle, he gestures toward the bed, eyebrows raised.

"Please, sit," I croak.

"Alexander," he begins again, and I know better than to correct him. No matter how many times I insist that he call me Alec, he refuses. It was hard enough to get him to stop calling me Mr. Lightwood. So much for equality. Still, I don't blame him. This isn't the first time that being General Mayrse Lightwood's son has singled me out. Like the first time I met Jace Herondale, for example.

Lost in my thoughts, Dr. Bealish has to wave his hands in front of my eyes before I remember that someone is even in the room. "Alexander, are you all right?"

I can feel my cheeks flush as I apologize – if only the burns could have severed those neurons. Wishful thinking, I know.

The doctor gives me a warm smile, and I know that I haven't offended him. He's used to much worse. Some of the things he's seen would send me running for the bathroom, but I guess you don't make it through forty years of military medicine without some serious balls. "The General called today, to ask about your progress."

"What did you tell her?" I can feel the sweat gathering between my shoulder blades. Which really, is only going to make my burns itch. Excellent. For all my imaginary demon-slaying prowess, I don't even know if I'm ready to handle the metro.

"I think you're ready, Alexander." I open my mouth to argue against this idea, but when Baelish wants you to be quiet, you know you better just shut up and sit there. "Being nervous is a normal reaction, but you're no longer at a risk for infection, your bandages can be changed by a physician in New York, and your leg is healing wonderfully. Better than we could have hoped for, really." He leans in, eyebrows raised, and I know he's going to play the guilt card next. Is it not pathetic when even your doctor knows you're a pushover?

"Besides, these beds are in –"

"High demand," I finish, feeling a little ashamed. Jace would be frothing at the mouth to leave. He wouldn't lie here, dreaming of all the things he would do, he'd get out of bed and do them. Just thinking about him makes me acutely thankful that I'm no longer hooked up to the heart monitor, since I don't really know how I would explain a spontaneous heart palpitation, but his memory also delivers the rush of strength that I need. "Okay," I say, trying to ignore the mix of surprise and delight on Dr. Bealish's face. "I'll book a ticket back to New York."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Magnus

Brooklyn, New York

I can still hear the pounding of the music in my ears as the water runs down my body. My legs move of their own accord, unwilling to accept that the party is over. Sometimes it takes my body a little while to catch up to my brain –a trait that's been known to get me in trouble. The lights still flash behind my eyelids, along with images of the half-naked bodies that were moving together in my loft. The place will be a bitch to clean tomorrow, but hey, nobody can say that my parties aren't the best.

When the last traces of glitter have disappeared down the drain, I hop out of the shower and grab my moisturizer. What I really want is to get back to bed, but no one's face stays like this without a little extra primping.

When the routine's done, I dance through the rest of the apartment, flicking off lights with my legs and hands like some sort of drunken ballerina. There's a shot of tequila on the kitchen table – a body shot that was forgotten in the wake of Adam Lambert-induced giddiness. I did miss out on a delectable set of abs, but we make sacrifices for the things we love.

I'm ready to drop my towel and get into bed when I hear a smacking of lips. A shaggy blonde head pops up from beneath my duvet. "You smell delicious," the guy – Darren? Darrell? – purrs. He slides out – still naked – and makes his way over.

I evade his outstretched arms, and wrap the towel a little more tightly. I so do not want to deal with this right now. My shower was at least forty minutes long – certainly long enough that he shouldn't still be here.

He grins, and reaches his hand out to grab the towel. "Don't be a tease Magnus. You can't come out here looking like that and not expect me to be up for round two. My second wind might surprise you."

I try to smother my snort, but it doesn't quite work. Darwin looks a little miffed, but it's not my fault that he couldn't follow simple instructions. I grab his clothes from the foot of the bed and toss them to him.

"I wasn't joking when I told you to make sure you didn't let my cat out when you left."

His smile falters a little, but he still thinks I'm joking. I look up and down his body: blonde hair; green eyes; tanned, muscular skin, and feel none of the attraction I had an hour ago. I just want him out so I can get some sleep.

"My friends took my coat – I don't even have a cell. Plus, the night's too cold for you to be stuck in that big bed all by yourself. I can be exactly the kind of company you need."

"Uh, Duncan?"

"Daniel," he corrects me, his voice a little harsher now.

"Daniel," I amend. "If you were looking for a boyfriend, you came to the wrong party." I grab my cell from the table and toss it over to him. "Call your friends or a cab, and feel free to wait inside until it gets here. But just so we're clear, there's no sleeping in my house, and there's no round two."

He doesn't answer, just pulls up his pants in awkward silence. This always happens. I give them a chance to get out with their dignity intact, but they always insist on staying. You'd think I could pick up a vibe or something, some kind of signal to let me know which ones are needy. But no, I am constantly surprised by people's need to ruin a night of perfectly good fun with excessive whining.

Daniel opts to wait outside for the cab. Oh well, people do foolish things all the time, and there's nothing I can do about any of them. It's not like I can snap my fingers and *poof* he's sent home. I see a flash of black and white dart toward the front door as it's falling shut, but I reach out and scoop Chairman Meow up before he can escape.

"You stupid fur ball," I coo, burying my face in his fur. "Don't you know it's too cold for me to be stuck in that big bed all by myself?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Alec

The dream comes back every night, and its only consistency is that the events never begin the same way they actually did three months ago. It never takes long to figure out that I'm dreaming; after all, it's the only time I act the hero.

This time, the landmine gets tripped by a bird. It's an act of nature, not an act of my clumsiness. Instead of being blown into Jace, I catapult myself toward him, wrapping my arm around his helmetless head, making sure that he stays conscious. Our position is given away, but instead of watching in horror as three of my squad members die, I actually put some of my training into action. Instead of being paralyzed by fear, I'm flooded with a sense of purpose. Not only am I fighting for my country, I'm fighting for the life of the man that I love. I'm invincible.

That's what happens on good days: I triumph. I get the guy, I get the glory, and most importantly, I get the kiss. Unfortunately, this is not a good day.

Knowing that you're dreaming should make it easier. I should be able to wake myself up. Usually, I can. But it won't work right now, and I'm starting to panic. I can feel the heat of the fire moving toward us, and everything is just like that day: blood running down Jace's face, flames licking at his uniform, sweat and dirt caked to whatever bare skin is available; me trying not to cough, since more smoke gets in with every breath; and a figure edging toward us, gun at the ready.

"Wake up, Alec," I whisper. My eyes are running, and I can no longer tell if it's from the smoke or if I'm just crying. My body still poised over Jace's. I dig my fingers into my palms. "Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up." Nothing happens.

And then, the smell. It's impossible to describe, because it's not a singular odor. It's too many levels of horrible, assaulting you all at once. This actually makes me start to cry. I can't do this over again. It never lasts this long, and it's never this vivid. But the figure keeps coming, closer and closer, and the smell just keeps getting worse.

Even though I know it's a dream, I snap. Driven into a frenzy of horror and grief, I reach out, and grab the intruder around the throat, screaming as loudly as my raw throat will allow….

As it turns out, an earthenware plate smashed against my cheekbone is exactly what I need to wake up. The fragments of the plate scatter as I jolt upward, and I realize that it's my sister's throat I had been trying to rip out. I crush burnt toast into my sheets as I try to lift myself up on shaking legs. Izzy's eyes are wide, her face pale, and when I reach out to touch her, she recoils.

"Isabelle, what are you doing?" My voice wavers and I reach up to find that the tears were not a figment of my imagination either. "I told you that you're not supposed to be in here while I'm sleeping."

She looks a little less shaken now; more concerned for me than herself, I'd be willing to wager. "I was going to wait, I swear. I was just going to put your breakfast on the table and leave. I thought the smell would wake you up or something. But you started screaming, and I didn't know what was wrong with you. I just wanted to wake you up."

Her lips starts to tremble, and I know I must have really freaked her out. Izzy doesn't cry about anything.

"It's okay," I reassure her, wiping the tears off my face. "See? Your crybaby brother is all better."

Instead of smiling, she walks over and wraps her arms around me – another uncharacteristic gesture. "More like my hero big brother," she whispers.

I open my mouth to argue, but she won't have it. Instead, she sits on my bed, and pulls me down beside her. She looks up, and I can tell that struggling to say something.

"It's okay Iz. Ask me whatever you want."

"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "Is the Jace that you were screaming out to in your dream Private Herondale?"

The look on my face must confirm her suspicions. I haven't heard anyone say his name out loud for months; it hurts even more than I imagined.

I wish to be back in the dream, no matter how horrible.

Izzy takes my hand. "He wasn't just a random soldier, was he?"

The tears are back, but I don't make any attempt to wipe them away. "No," I answer. "He's – he was my –" This is one blank I can't fill. Friend? No, Jace was way more than that. Love? That would imply that he even had the slightest inkling of how I felt about him.

"He was like my brother."

Izzy nods, and although I know she doesn't quite buy that, she doesn't press the issue. But neither does she drop it completely. "So what was he like?"

Thinking of Jace as he was before…as he was when I first met him makes me grin. "Well Izzy, to be completely honest, to say he was a bit of an asshole would be the understatement of the year."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Java the Hut is a real restaurant. While I have never been there, I thought the name was cool (*nerd smile*), so here it appears. Also, Tehlu is a figure from Pat Rothfuss's fantasy series (if you're an epic fantasy fan, you should definitely read it). Also, Magnus and Alec are going to meet soon, I promise. :)

Chapter Four: Magnus

When I walk through the doors of Java the Hut, I'm immediately cornered by Kelly Fell, one of the many people in the great state of New York who would love to have me publicly castrated.

"Kelly, beautiful," I purr, precisely because I know that not getting the first word will piss her off. "Did you do something new with your hair? Oh wait!" I shrug out of my coat and give a quick wink to the blushing barista behind Kelly. "You brushed it this morning. It really works for you, maybe you should try it more often."

"Screw you, Bane," she hisses, jabbing a finger into my chest. "My cousin has been here for over an hour waiting for you. Just sitting over on his computer, working his ass off - and I know it's definitely not for school - while you were doing what exactly?"

I glance over to make sure she's telling the truth, and sure enough, there's Josh, sitting at our regular table, newly green tinted spikes sticking up over the screen of a laptop. "Well, you would never believe what happened this morning when I was on my way out of the apartment. As soon as I get out through the door, some jackass on a Vespa drives by, completely ruining my new Pradas."

Kelly slaps her hand on the counter behind her. "Well darn! Now, while I would love to call and personally thank anyone who, intentionally or not, makes your morning just a little less fantastic –"

"Actually, I prefer the term 'fabulous' if you don't mind."

She does not look impressed. "The point is," she presses, "I would love it if someone actually ran you over on a Vespa, but I really don't understand how changing your shoes can make you an hour late."

"Wow, maybe you should come over and sit with the two of us. With those powers of deduction we could probably triple our business in a week." I fish a slip of paper out of my back pocket and hand it to her.

"You can call up Christiano and thank him if you want. Although, his extended personal apology tired him out a little, so I'd give it an hour or so if I were you."

She crumples up the paper and tosses it in the trash. "Should have known. Could you just do Josh a favor and get a new lapdog? One who doesn't have better things to do while you're off getting laid by every piece of ass that walks by?"

Before she can figure out what I'm doing, I swoop in and plant my shimmering lips on her cheek, leaving a perfect imprint. "And miss seeing you every day? Never, baby."

I can hear her snapping at the cute barista to get out back and stop 'ogling assholes' as I slide into the booth beside Josh.

"So, tell me you've got something good, Joshie," I say, poking one of his spikes with the end of my finger. "Love the hair, by the way. Jana didn't charge you, did she?"

"Yeah, she requested three dirty stories she could hold over you. I threw in the night we spent in Peru as a bonus."

I hold my hand over my heart. "So this is what it feels like to be betrayed by the one you love?"

"Shut up," Josh mumbles, but I can see him grinning beneath the forced irritation. "I got the emails you wanted. The girl knew what she was doing, but you should have all the information you need now."

"Perfect. So, who do we have coming in today?"

Josh clicks around a few times, until a rainbow-colored schedule pops up on his screen. "Uh, three clients. Two women, one man, and all very, very rich."

I take a sip of the coffee Josh has in front of him. "Just the way I like them."

Josh slaps my hand. "Get your own, you fiend. And Magnus?"

He looks directly at me, his green eyes shimmering in the sunlight, and seems a little embarrassed. This better not be about the guy I introduced him to last night. If he hurt Josh, he'll pay – I'll make sure of it.

"What is it, Josh? Did Brent do something?"

"What, Brent? Brent who? Oh, that dude you tried to force on me last night. Gross."

I roll my eyes. Brent is extremely hot, just a little too boyfriend-material for my taste. Perfect for an innocent little soul like Josh.

"I was thinking…I think I'm going to introduce myself as Ragnor to the clients." He deepens his voice and swirls his hands around, like he's in control of a huge store of magic. "Ragnor Fell. It's got a good ring to it, doesn't it?"

I remember the look he had on his face before asking me, and that's the only thing that keeps me from bursting into laughter. "Ragnor Fell?" I repeat slowly, suppressing even the slightest grin. "What are we, like the Horsemen of the Apocalypse now?"

"Okay, the apocalypse is called Ragnarok, you doofus. Maybe you should try to schedule some reading into your, uh, extracurricular activities. I was looking around online, and apparently Ragnor means 'judgment warrior'. How cool is that? Plus, it's kinda close to Magnus. I dunno, we could be Mag and Rag." He grins sheepishly, and for a second it feels like high school all over again, with him grinning up at me from behind a carton of milk.

"Okay, Josh, here's a deal: you actually go out on a date with one of the extremely delicious guys I've tried to set you up with, and I'll call you Ragnor, or Superman, or the Great Tehlu. I'll call you whatever you want."

His shoulders slump. "Those guys don't want to go out with me Magnus. They just talk to me because you charm them into it."

"Okay, that is not true. While I am exceedingly charming, have you even looked in a mirror lately? You are adorable, not to mention brilliant, and have a personal connection to every one of the best parties in New York. How could anyone resist?"

"I don't know, maybe I make it pretty easy when I tell them I'm not interested?"

"And why on Earth would you do that? Brent was pure perfection." For a genius, sometimes Josh can be pretty dumb.

"Maybe they're just not my type. Just drop it Magnus, please?"

"Fine," I concede, fully intending to bring it up later anyway.

"Excuse me?" A deep, sultry voice interrupts our conversation. I lift my head up to find that the voice appears to belong to James Franco's long-lost twin brother.

"Yes?" Josh snaps. Man he is really touchy today.

Franco's doppelganger ignores Josh's tone and keeps his eyes trained on me. "You're Magnus Bane."

I don't make any attempts to hide the fact that I'm checking this guy out. In fact, he seems to be quite enjoying it, going as far as to make sure that his shirt accidently rides up over his set of perfectly sculpted abs. "That's me," I smirk. This guy is definitely smoking, but if he thinks that he can make Magnus Bane lose his cool with a little rising-shirt action, he's sadly mistaken.

"Great," he answers, a smile of his own spreading across his face. Even his crinkly eyes are spot-on Franco. Christ. "I was hoping you could help me with a problem."

"Do you have an appointment?" Josh interjects.

"Um….Ragnor?" I hiss. "What time is our first appointment?"

"She'll be here in half an hour. I had to call her back and reschedule after you decided not to show up on time." Ouch. Kelly's right – Josh does have a full college workload, and he's obviously upset that I was late. Oh well, I'll make it up to him…later.

"Is that enough time to get some help with your dilemma?" I raise my eyebrow, and I swear the guy's pants visibly tighten. What can I say? I'm irresistible.

He extends his hand, helping me up from the booth. "Half an hour will be plenty," he says, and drags me toward the unoccupied bathroom, with Josh furiously pounding on keys behind us.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Alec

Physical therapy sucks. There's just no better way to say it. Jace would probably have a few colorful expletives to add some flavor, but the general idea remains the same: pure suckage. A few months ago I could run across the desert with hundreds of pounds on my back for hours at a time. I could have run a marathon, or climbed a mountain, or you know, walked to the fucking fridge without any problem. Now, I'm stuck on a yoga mat – bright pink, thanks to Izzy – doing strengthening exercises that would make a panda laugh.

I hear a knock at the door – Izzy, checking in on me again. "Alec," she calls softly from the other side. "Can I come in?"

I flop back on the floor, letting my arms fall to my sides. "Door's unlocked."

"Nice exercises," she says, grinning. "You look like you're having a blast."

I close my eyes and try to force a smile, which probably makes me look like my botoxed Aunt Jessie. "You bet I am."

I hear a shuffling and within seconds, I feel Izzy's head resting against mine. Some of her hair falls over on my face , and I spit it out, laughing and spluttering.

"That's better," Izzy says, reaching her hand out to squeeze mine. "Better than hearing you curse at the yoga mat. I think you really hurt its feeling with the last one – 'stupid sparkly square of stupid'. Killer."

I knock my head against hers. "Oh, shut up. Invalid or not, I can still handle you."

"Hah! Last time you tried to 'handle' me, you ended up with a mouth full of plate, I believe. The score rests at Izzy: one, Alec: zero."

I pull myself upright, my smile vanishing. "That's not something to joke about, Izzy. I could have killed you."

Izzy follows suit, sitting up and taking my hands in hers. "Alec, you seriously have to let that go. It's fine, and I'm fine." She punches me in the chest, and although I would never admit it, it kind of stings. Modeling may not be anything close to the army, but it's nice to know she picked up how to throw a good punch before taking to the runway. "And you are NOT an invalid. You're just a wimp."

"Ah, the famous Lightwood motivation. I feel so loved."

Izzy springs up, hauling me along with her. "Quit your bitching. We're going outside. You know, that place where the sun is? Seriously, your room smells like that shrew Church hid under our porch last summer."

The thought of going outside makes my heart speed up. I use all the techniques Dr. Baelish went over with me to calm down: deep breaths, eyes closed, thoughts focused on the positive. It doesn't help. My hands feel clammy and tight, as if I've been lifting weights instead of doing light stretching for the past hour. My shoulders are shaking, and I can feel the pitter-pattering of anxiety swelling up and out of my stomach and toward my chest. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Iz."

Unfortunately, Izzy won't have any of that. Once she sets her mind to something, she usually gets it. "We'll take baby steps, I promise. I know this amazing little park that no one visits – I go there jogging all the time. It's the perfect place to be alone."

My irritation at this little tidbit of information overwhelms the fear for a few minutes. "That sounds like an incredibly smart idea, Iz. What could be dangerous about a beautiful, young supermodel running around a secluded park by herself?"

Izzy rolls her eyes. "Do you think you're the only Lightwood who can hold his own in a fight?" She leans over and ruffles my hair, putting on this ridiculous childish voice. "Don't worry little brother; sissy can take care of herself. Plus, if you're that worried, I guess it just means you have to come with me today."

I reach out with my good leg to try to kick her, but she jumps out of the way just in time. "Let me put on a sweater," I say, before following her out the door and out of the house.

Once we actually get to Izzy's secret park, I feel relaxed and calm. Better, perhaps, than I even felt at home. The cool air is comforting on my skin, and it's so quiet that I can hear the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. The sirens, the car horns, and the collective rumble of thousands of people are still hard to deal with, even from behind the walls of my room, but the small things, like leaves rustling, the burble of water running along the rocks of a small pond, and the soft sound of Izzy's sneakers crunching against the ground remind me of how much I missed New York.

I know it's exactly what I shouldn't be doing, but once Izzy's out of sight, I can't help but wonder if Jace would like it here. Jace was a hard person to get to know, and although I knew him better than anyone, there were still a thousand questions I would ask him if I could go back in time. We spent most of our last night together talking about girls, of all things. It was a topic I usually avoided at all costs, since 1. I had never been with and had no desire to ever be with a girl and 2. the thought of Jace being with anyone made me sick to my stomach, but that night he'd been particularly insistent.

Sometimes I try to imagine what would have happened if I'd told him. Part of me wants to believe that it would have made us closer, that in turn he would have opened up more about his past. I could tell from the few stories he told about his childhood that it wasn't happy, but Jace never gave details. Part of me wishes that I had been brave enough to just tell him how I felt; that there was no sexy model friend of Izzy's that I hooked up with in the Hamptons; that there was no high school crush who came back to visit right before I left for Iraq; and most of all, that he was the only person I ever loved. I wish a lot of things, every day, but no matter how hard I wish, one thing will never change: I'll never see Jace again.

With that sunny thought coloring my mood, I pick up the pace, relishing the pain that shoots through my leg with each step. Unlike the dreams, or the thoughts, or the wishes, this pain is something that I can deal with. It's something that I can control.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Magnus

I'm so absorbed in my phone that I don't even hear the sound of footsteps approaching until it's too late. By the time I realize what's happening, I'm already tangled up in another pair of legs.

The legs of an extremely attractive young woman.

"I'm so sorry," the girl gushes, yanking her earphones out and scrambling to her feet. "I'm just so used to being here alone that I wasn't paying any attention to the path."

"No big deal," I say, holding my fingernails up to her face. "Not even a chip. All is well."

She laughs and holds up her own hand, which happens to be adorned with the exact same nail polish.

"Great taste," I say with a wink. After a closer look, I feel like I recognize this girl. "What's your name? Sorry to be rude, but you look kind of familiar." I wonder for the briefest second if maybe we've slept together; the thought brings on a strange feeling of repugnance. I have no idea why – this girl is gorgeous, has a rocking body, and just by looking at what she wears while jogging, I can tell she has impeccable taste – but the thought of sleeping with her makes me feel a little…off. Maybe Kelly served me some bad hummus at lunch – I wouldn't put it past her, considering I caught her spitting in my coffee one day last week.

"Isabelle Lightwood," she says, holding out her hand.

So that's why I know her. She's an up-and-comer in the fashion world. While not a household name yet, I can see that she definitely has the potential. Anyone who can manage to look graceful while collapsing in a heap has to be destined to do great things.

"I knew I recognized you," I say, bringing her hand to my lips. "You're even more beautiful in person. I'm –"

"Magnus Bane," she fills in, a grin lighting up her face again. "You helped one of my friends with a…predicament last winter. She said you were amazing."

"That is the word around the block." Again, flirting with this girl makes me feel a little uncomfortable. What the hell is going on? The feeling has me so flustered that I can't even think of anything else to say.

"Uh, I should get going," Isabelle says, saving me from looking like a total ass. "Before my brother decides that I've been gone too long, and comes looking for blood. It was nice clobbering you to the ground."

Brother? Wait just a minute. I would really like to meet a guy who shares the same genes as Isabelle Lightwood. "Wait," I say as she starts putting her earphones back in. "How about you and your brother come to my party this weekend?" I fish an invitation out of my bag and hand it to her. "It's the least I can do."

She looks uncertain. Strange, I would have guessed that she would be totally down for a party. "I would love to go," she bites her lip and looks behind her, as if expecting someone. "But my brother isn't a big party guy, and he just got home. I don't want to go out and leave him alone all night."

"Don't worry," I assure her. "My parties aren't like any you've ever been to before. I guarantee that your brother will have an excellent time." I will make sure of it personally, if he's interested and looks anything like I'm imagining.

"I'll see what I can do," she says, before dropping her very own glittery wink back at me. Man, I like this girl. I like her, but I can't bring myself to look at her ass as she jogs away. I hold my hand up to my forehead, sure that there must be a medical explanation for this. I guess I'll blame it on the nerves.

I wait about a half an hour to make sure that Isabelle or her brother aren't going to show up before I hunch beneath my favorite tree and dial my mother's number.

It feels like a hundred rings go through before she picks up, but in reality it's only three or four.

"Maggie?" she says through the static, her voice full of hope. My cell is untraceable and without caller id, but I guess mothers can just tell.

I bite my lip to keep my composure. This is why I only call twice a year. "Happy Birthday, mom," I whisper, not wanting to hear the crackling in my own voice. "How's it going?"

"Oh Magnus," she sighs. "The better question is how are you doing? Joshie tells me that you haven't changed much, always working and never taking the time to get to know anyone."

Translation: Josh has been sending my mother emails, telling her I've been sleeping around. "Trust me, mom, not many of the people here are worth knowing."

"That's not true Maggie, and you know it. You just won't give people a chance. Josh is worried about you, he tells me all the time."

"Yeah, well maybe Josh should keep his mouth shut," I hiss into the phone. That dweeb is going to get it next time I see him.

"Don't even think about bringing this up with him," my mom warns. Even thousands of miles away she knows exactly what I'm thinking. "He's right to be worried, you know. You need to open up to people, baby. Let someone take care of you for a change."

Minutes ago, all I wanted was to see my mother; to have her back here in New York, where I wouldn't have to worry about her every minute of every day. Now I have to work to stop from hanging up the phone mid-conversation.

"And how's that working out for you, mom? How's Rick these days?" I spit out his name as if it could burn right through my tongue.

"Now Magnus." My mom's voice is sharper now; we're edging into forbidden territory. "I know Rick isn't your favorite person, but you don't know him like I do."

The fuck I don't. Rick, number twelve on a long list of men my mother has trusted to 'take care of her' takes first place in the Most Likely to be the Dumbest Fucking Person on Earth contest. A good for nothing drunk who spends more money on hookers than my mother's food (or so say his credit card statements), he's the reason she's off in the middle of nowhere. He wanted her as far away from me as possible. "I'll bet," I mutter away from the phone. "So, I guess he's back to work now?" I know full well he hasn't been to work in almost two years.

"Soon," she mumbles. Shit, now I've hurt her feelings. Torn between rage and shame, I whisper the words that are always there, under the surface.

"You could come home you know." The back of my throat burns with the effort of holding back tears.

"Oh Magnus, -"

"Forget about it," I spit out before she can continue. Before she can say out loud that she would rather stay in a rundown shack where she's surrounded by filth and mistreated than come back here with me. "I have a meeting with Josh I have to get to. Your birthday present is in the account I set up for you. I love you."

As soon as I hang up, I log into my account and transfer twenty-five thousand dollars to the trust I set up for my mother a few years ago. I already know it'll be gone within a month, that I'll be lucky if she spends two percent of it on herself, but it doesn't matter.

With trembling fingers, I grab a slip of paper out of the bottom of my bag and punch in a new number. This person picks up after half a ring.

"Hey. This is Magnus Bane. You were at my party a few weeks ago, do you remember the address? Perfect, meet me there in twenty minutes. If you're late, don't bother ringing, because I'll probably already be busy."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Alec

Apparently Isabelle interpreted our successful day at the park as an invitation to be my new 'life-coach'. Why anyone would ever want to refer to themself as a life-coach is beyond me, but I stopped trying to understand that girl when she exchanged playing cops-and-robbers for makeovers and manicures. Whatever her motivation, Isabelle certainly took her self-appointed position seriously. In the days following our first excursion, she brought me first to the library; somewhere I could sit and be amongst other people, but without the stress of having to actually communicate. She read Vogue and I checked out eight nineteenth century French novels. From there she upgraded to a rickety old bookstore that has probably been around since the nineteen-twenties that smelled like musty paper and happiness. I bought a couple of military books from the owner, Bart, and we had a pretty in-depth conversation about medieval weapons while Isabelle chatted up the cute waiter at the café across the street. Then the zoo, an indoor aquarium, Central Park - basically anything Isabelle could think of that I would enjoy.

Now, I'm not suggesting that Isabelle planned all these Alec-centric events so that she would have some leverage when she offered up her penultimate reintegration activity, but thinking about how much time she'd given up to do things that probably bored her out of her mind certainly made me feel guilty when she brought up the idea of going to some party hosted by a guy named Magnus Bane. Parties have never been my thing. Isabelle knows that. Guys who I didn't meet until I was on assignment in Iraq know that. Christ, even my dentist knows that. However, according to Isabelle, Magnus Bane – and don't think I'm not wary of someone whose name is MAGNUS BANE, of all things – throws the most exclusive parties in New York City. Since exclusivity usually means there's a small guest list and since Isabelle really has put her life on hold to take care of me, drive me to the doctor, and cook me (what she considers to be) food every day, I somehow agreed that this was a good idea.

"Alec, that's not what you're wearing." Izzy looks absolutely appalled when I walk down the steps, ready to fulfill my brotherly duty and attend a party that will end up being one of two things: an acutely awkward and uncomfortable night that I will immediately attempt to erase from my memory or the event that goes down in history as "the night that army-dude freaked out and killed the guy who was groping his sister".

It looks as though for every inch of skin I've tried to cover, Izzy has attempted to leave two exposed. Her dress – if one could call it that – is black and flimsy and could probably earn her jail time in some of the more conservative states. There's also some sort of bracelet wrapped around her wrist that puts me in mind of a whip: something I never, ever want to associate with the little sister who drew me pictures of the cat she used to call "Furch". On the bright side, her heels look like a weapon that could castrate a man with minimal effort, so at least I'll have that mental picture to fall back on when the inevitable ogling begins.

"Izzy, I already agreed to go to this thing, so why can't you let me just wear what I want?"

She looks at me like I have no more brains than the salad she ate for supper. "The party is in Magnus's loft. Chances are, it's going to be warm, and while I can count at least three holes from here, I doubt that sweater is going to be well-ventilated. Can't you wear something a little less…"

"Comfortable?" I fill in.

"Well, I was going to say homeless, but we can go with comfortable." She sticks out her lip. "Seriously, Alec. If I bring you looking like that, we'll never get invited back."

"Well, wouldn't that be a shame. I was so looking forward to being exactly the kind of person who would get invited back."

Isabelle walks over and starts guiding me up the steps. "Come on, it won't kill you to show a little skin."

At her words, I go rigid. She can obviously feel the change, because she drops my arm, and guilt shadows her eyes. "Alec, I didn't mean – "

"I know, Iz. It's fine. I'll let you redress me, but we're keeping the sleeves, okay?"

She doesn't argue, and we continue up to her room in silence.

Once there, Izzy starts taking huge piles of men's clothes out of her closet and throwing them on the bed. I have no idea where they came from, and frankly, I'm afraid to ask. Izzy must notice my distress, however, because she assures me that they all come from fashion friends. I don't know if I completely believe that, but I allow it to assuage at least some of the brotherly rage.

By the time she's finished, Izzy has turned me from someone who looks like they want to stay in the shadows, to someone who looks like they should be downing rum and cokes and playing with the band. The black jeans she has me in are much too tight for my liking, but she assures me that they're supposed to look like that. The sweater has been replaced by a white t-shirt inside a leather jacket (which I argued would be even warmer than the sweater, but to no avail), with silver chains dangling around my neck. While the getup is definitely not something I would have picked for myself, it's something we can both live with. Before we leave, she snaps a picture of the two of us with her phone, and for a second I let myself believe that this might not be so bad.

Of course, that optimism turns out to be premature. Once we get to the party, I discover that Mr. Bane and I have very different ideas of the world exclusive. I once had an exclusive club; it was dedicated to the ninja-turtles and there were exactly three members: myself, Isabelle, and Isabelle's friend Veronica. We would huddle up in mine and Izzy's tree house, playing our respective roles. I was Donatello, Veronica was Michelangelo, and Izzy was obviously Raphael. We considered extending an invitation to Brian Derkwell, a boy in Izzy's kindergarten class who had a sweet Ninja Turtles lunchbox, but decided that there wasn't really enough room for a fourth member. Magnus Bane seems to subscribe to a slightly more generous definition of the term: his loft is jammed full of people, most of them dressed in even less than my sister, and gyrating to music that's so loud I can feel it in my teeth.

Approximately three and a half seconds have passed when the first guy asks Isabelle to dance. Even though I assured her in the taxi that I would be fine wandering around on my own for a while, I still have to practically force her into the guy's arms before she'll accept that I can survive alone. Unsure of what to do, I make my way over to a table in the corner, where a girl with pink hair is pouring up drinks.

"What can I get for you?" she asks, unashamedly looking me up and down.

"Uh, a beer?" I don't know if anyone else in the world can turn an order into a question, but I guess that's why I'm here: to represent the socially awkward demographic.

Thankfully the girl twists the top off for me, because it definitely wouldn't 'up my cool factor' to admit that I can't do it myself. Before I can walk off to try to find a quiet corner where I can spy on my sister in peace, I feel a hand run up the back of my pants.

"Well hello, sexy," a voice purrs in my ear. I almost drop my beer. My whole body turns cold as I turn around to face the guy who thinks it's okay to just fondle my ass.

"Wanna dance?" he asks, no trace of shame on his angular face. This is another thing I have noticed in the five minutes since I arrived: everyone at the party is attractive. However, the light blonde hair and dark eyes aren't enough to distract me from my panic. A hundred thoughts are racing through my head: Who is this person? Does he know or did he just see a free ass and couldn't resist? Did anyone see me touch him? Will anyone who knows of my parents see me talking to him? The panic seems to freeze me from the inside, and I start to shiver.

"Get lost, Sebastian," a low, authoritative voice commands from behind me. I turn around to find a woman, clad in a tight silver dress, and holding some sort of pink drink.

Much to my surprise, the blonde guy scampers in the other direction, leaving me to deal with this blonde-haired, straight-guy's wet dream. She runs her tongue over her lips before holding out her hand, which I think she may have wanted me to kiss, but I end up shaking instead. The gesture makes her laugh; it's a high, tinkling sound, and draws the attention of every man within hearing distance.

"I'm Camille," she says, a smile spreading across her face. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"Uh, my name's Alec. Alec Lightwood. I just came here with my sister."

"You're Isabelle Lightwood's brother." I don't think Camille means that as a question, but I nod my head anyway. "Well, I guess the good looks run in the family, then." I'm unsure if that's a compliment, since the sentence seems to be tinged with acid. Camille obviously knows my sister, and she doesn't seem to think too highly of her.

I also have no idea how to continue this conversation. Am I supposed to say that Camille is beautiful too? I mean, objectively speaking, it's easy to tell that she's an attractive woman: full, blonde hair; bright green eyes; ample, uh, chest area, but I have no idea how one is supposed to go about complimenting women without giving the wrong idea. By instinct, I look down to the floor, and then, realizing that I probably look like I'm trying to discreetly check her out, I snap my head back up. She looks a little confused, but instead of walking away, she instead holds out her hand.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me to dance?"

I almost lose my beer once again when she reaches out to grab my hand; the last thing I want to do is dive into that throng. "I really need to go the bathroom," I blurt out. It's the first thing that comes to mind, despite the fact that I haven't even taken a sip of my beer and I have no idea where the bathroom is in here. With the strobe lights and dark walls, everything looks exactly the same.

Clearly annoyed, Camille spins around and storms off into the crowd. I guess now there are two Lightwoods she has to avoid at this party. In more pressing matters, now that I've been hit on twice in the first five minutes, finding a secluded corner seems a lot less likely. I feel as if everyone I pass by is just waiting to harass me, and the cold panic is transforming into an oppressive wave of suffocation. My hair – long enough now that it hangs across my eyes – is sticking to my face, and the flickering lights are making me dizzy. My anxiety feels like a palpable force, washing over me in waves in time with the music's beat. I back into someone, spilling their drink all over the floor, and then book it in the opposite direction.

I do my best to avoid the crowd, feeling my way along the back wall until I come to a door. There's a table in front of it – a clear sign that the room is off limits – but I need to get out of here, even if just for a few minutes. I'm sure Magnus Bane would understand.

Entering the room is like sensory overload; the walls, furniture, and linens are all brightly colored, and there's something sparkly – glitter, maybe – all over the floor. There are glossy pictures hanging everywhere, and heaps of clothes are strewn across every available surface. It's almost as if Isabelle lives here. I resist the urge to start cleaning up – that's something that will get the cops called on me for sure, and make my way to the en-suite bathroom. I just need to splash some water on my face and sit down for a minute or two, and then I'll be ready to go out and face the party.

Unfortunately, my covert plan of action is ruined when, after spending five minutes rifling around for a towel, I open the bathroom door to step back into the bedroom and come face to face with a man who I can only assume is Magnus Bane.

Bane, I cannot help noticing in my panic, is incredibly…sexy. His clothes are ripped and colored, and hug his honey-colored skin tightly. He has black hair that's streaked through with color and spiked in every direction. Makeup and glitter cover his bright green eyes, and I'm pretty sure that he's wearing lip gloss. There's a silver piercing above his right eye, which happens to be raised in a most disconcerting manner. He looks like the antithesis of Jace, the golden, All-American Wonderboy, but there's something in the way he holds himself – a similar cocky self-assurance – that reminds me of the soldier.

Instead of opening my mouth to explain what I'm doing in his bathroom, I just stand there, staring at him. I stand there, cursing my sister for putting me in jeans so tight that I can absolutely not hide the fact that I am incredibly turned on for the first time in recent memory without thinking of Jace Herondale, and wishing that I could somehow force my mouth to open and say something suave or witty or at least something completely un-Alec, but I can't move. I'm frozen in place.

I wonder for a second if this man isn't Magnus Bane, but some exotic apparition my subconscious has fabricated, when he crosses his arms and shifts his weight so that one of his hips sticks out. I think I may faint.

"Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?" he finally asks, breaking the silence.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Magnus

My heart thuds so loudly as I wait for the blue-eyed intruder to answer, I swear he can hear it over the music. Just looking at him makes my mind turn to mush; I've never seen someone so beautiful. Even looking completely guilty and terrified he's breathtaking, all sharp angles and perfect symmetry. His hair, damp from the heat of the room, curls in around his porcelain neck, and I have the sudden urge to step forward and brush it away for him. Unfortunately, I can't move: his eyes, which are a bright, clear blue I didn't even think existed in the natural world, have me rooted in place.

It's absolutely infuriating. No one should be able to make me feel like this: tongue-tied, flushed, and…giddy. Like a twelve year old girl. He needs to go.

"Well?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "Can you speak?"

My rudeness seems to snap him from his trance, and a flurry of words rush out of his mouth at once; apologies and platitudes so garbled that he may as well be speaking a foreign language. He seems aware that he's making absolutely no sense, but it just makes him more flustered. His cheeks flush bright red, which makes me even more suspicious; nobody is that adorable unintentionally.

"What are you doing in here?" I repeat slowly, trying my best to look pissed, and not like I would just love to kneel down in front of him and…Christ, I need to get it together. People kneel in front of me, not the other way around. "Camille sent you, didn't she?"

"Camille?" The boy looks genuinely confused, too blissfully naïve to be poking around for information. Well, if it wasn't for Camille, why did he sneak into my barricaded bedroom?

"Are you talking about the blonde girl that tried to get me to dance with her?" he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

Oh God. There is only one reason a young, attractive guy would look disgusted at the idea of being propositioned by Camille Belcourt: he has to be gay. There is no other possible explanation. The revelation excites me a lot more than it should.

"How am I supposed to know who asked you dance?" I snap, hoping that I can push away these feelings through sheer force of will.

"Right, that was stupid," he mumbles, looking down at his feet.

Great, now I've made him feel like shit, just because I can't control my own libido. Because I'm sure that's all this is – the same (albeit much less disturbing) kind of excitement creepy old men get from watching school-girl porn: a lusting after the innocent. Because if this kid is anything, he's innocent. Virgin is practically painted on his forehead, what with his inability to maintain eye contact, his bumbling answers, and the way he's trying to shield his hard-on like it's some kind of curse.

I reach out to grab his hand to pull him over to the bed and try to get a sensible answer out of him, but jerk back when I feel how cold it is. Upon closer inspection I can see that he's shaking slightly, but doing his best to suppress it.

"Are you okay?" I ask. A wave of concern floods through my body; the sheer force of it surprises me, and I repress the instinct to act like an ass again.

I grab onto his hand again, braced for the cold this time, and lead him over to the bed. He sits right on the edge, as if he's almost afraid of the piece of furniture, but his shoulders relax a little. Not wanting to overwhelm him, I grab my desk chair and sit across from him.

"I didn't mean to be such a dick," I say, worried that I may have been bitching at someone who's actually sick. "I was just surprised to see someone in here."

He finally looks up at me, and when his eyes settle on mine, I feel another jolt shoot through my body. Suddenly the thought of him being sick makes me sick.

"It's not that," he says, pushing stray pieces of hair from his eyes. "I was feeling a little overwhelmed and I just wanted to get away from the party. I'm really sorry." Another, lighter, blush colors his cheekbones and I feel my mouth go dry. I grab my drink from the desk and take a long gulp, hoping that he's too clueless to realize what he's doing to me.

"It's just, my sister really wanted to come, and even though I don't really like parties, I didn't want to let her down." He pauses, and tilts his head to the side. "By the way, I don't really think you understand what the word exclusive means."

The line is so blunt and so unlike the unintelligible rambling he's been doing that I can't stop myself from laughing. This has to be Isabelle Lightwood's brother: the level of discomfort is proof enough – the ethereal beauty cements the fact.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking sheepish. "That was probably rude. I told Isabelle I shouldn't have come; this always happens."

"It's okay…"

"Alec," he fills in, giving me a small smile. I feel like I could blush myself, if I was prone to that sort of thing. "Alec Lightwood."

"It's okay, Alec. I'm sorry that my party made you uncomfortable." I reach out tentatively, wary of spooking him, and brush my fingers against the top of his hand. It's rough and wiry and even though I should be figuring out what's wrong, all I want is to feel that hand running down my back, or lifting me into the wall. Alec's eyes shoot up to mine, wide and bright, and I can feel his tendons tighten under my touch, but he doesn't push me away.

"I should, -" he begins, but I stroke my thumb across the top of his hand again and he falls silent, all of his energy devoted to trying to control his erratic breathing.

As I'm leaning forward, I keep repeating to myself what a bad idea this is. This isn't like all the other times; Alec is obviously shy and sweet and definitely not a one-night-stand kind of guy, and I shouldn't be giving into feelings that I don't understand, but I feel like I'm under some sort of trance. I can't stop myself.

And much to my surprise, Alec doesn't stop me. He doesn't flush, or turn away, or run out of the room in horror. Instead, he leans toward me, as if prisoner to the same intoxicating spell, until our lips press together.

Alec's lips are warm and soft, and when I gently slide my tongue across them, he emits a soft sigh that sends tingles right to the tips of my fingers. He tastes nothing like the beer he left on my bathroom sink, but rather like the candy my mother used to hide from me as a child: sweet and unreal and forbidden.

I lean forward out of my chair, and Alec's body shifts with me, sliding back on the bed to make room. However, when I move my arm from Alec's hand up to his shoulders, to try to shrug him out of his jacket, whatever electric current keeping us together fizzles out. He clamps his arms to his sides, starts to shake even harder than before, and jumps up from the bed so quickly that I almost lose my footing and end up at his feet.

"Alec, what's wrong?" I ask, my heart racing at his sudden outburst.

"I shouldn't have done that," he says, shaking his hands in front of him as if trying to dust something off. "I'm sorry." He tries to move past me, but I grab his wrist before he gets to the door.

"Wait, I'm sorry." I reach over on my desk and grab one of my business cards. I slip it in his jacket pocket before letting go of his wrist. "Please, call me." The vulnerability in my own voice surprises me, and it must give Alec pause as well, because he turns around.

"Magnus, I –" It's the first time he's said my name, and I would be lying if I said that the sound of it coming from his lips didn't elicit another rush of infuriating warmth.

"I don't do things like this," he finishes lamely. "I'm not, you know."

"What?" Now I'm really confused – is Alec trying to tell me he's not gay? He looks so…broken that I can't bring myself to argue. Instead, I just reach out for his hand again. "Alec, I can tell you really need someone to talk to. Someone other than your sister. Just, call me, okay?"

I think I hear the quietest "okay" before he slips out the door and back into the party, but I'm not entirely sure. Unwilling to face the crowd after whatever it was that just happened, I walk over and twist the lock, ensuring that I don't get any more unexpected visitors. I then down the rest of my drink, pick up my phone and send a quick text message to Josh asking him to get everybody out, and finally collapse on the bed, a vision of Alec Lightwood lingering behind my eyelids, just waiting for me to fall asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Alec

I flip Magnus's card over in my hands, examining the block letters for the thousandth time since Friday night. The paper, once stiff and pristine, now looks like it's been sitting in a wallet for a decade - the product of my constant compulsion to pick it up. Although I've read the number so many times it's been permanently burned into my brain, I can't bring myself to throw it away. At first I told myself I didn't want to put it in the trash in case Isabelle found it – I hadn't had the nerve to tell her what really happened when I disappeared from the party – but even a two year old could find the flaw in that plan: I could shred the card, put it directly out in the garbage disposal, or flush it down the toilet. No, I'm keeping the card for one reason: it is the only thing that proves that what happened Friday night was real.

So why can't I just pick up the damn phone and call? I've tried, probably a hundred times, but I can never make it past the first four digits. Sometimes it's my mother's face that flashes in front of mine, pinched and harsh and full of disgust. Other times it's Corporal Ralley, ripping my gun from my hands and telling me that "there ain't no room for fucking fairies in his squad." But most of the time it's Jace that I see, in a dozen different permutations: Jace, asking if I've forgotten about him so easily; Jace, reminding me that my first kiss – any kiss – was supposed to be with him; Jace, wanting to know how I can give up any chance of ever getting into the army again for a guy who wears knee-high boots, more eye make-up than Izzy, and will forget about Alexander Lightwood the minute someone else catches his eye. The guilt, pain, shame, and horror wrap me up and I fling my cellphone across the room, only to collapse on my bed….

And start thinking about him again. My world is tinted gold and green, and everywhere I look I see the color of his skin or the gleam of his eyes. Every glint of the sun looks like a fleck of the glitter that was streaked through his hair and scattered on his floor, and I can't pick up a book without thinking of the thick black lines of the tattoo I saw just below his jeans as he leaned forward to kiss me a second time.

And then, the kiss. I don't know how many people Magnus Bane has kissed – and frankly, I never want to know – but it's safe to say that he's had some practice. Just thinking about the way his lips felt against mine – soft and cool and glossy – and the way his tongue running against my lips gave me a bigger rush than jumping out of a helicopter, melts away the anger and frustration, and brings me back to square one: wanting to call.

This is what my life has become: a symphony of moans and sighs; a dance of desire and disgust, with the warring halves threatening to rip me in half. I need to clear my head. I need someone to talk to – someone who understands. Unfortunately, the only person I can think of is Magnus. I know Izzy would help – she wants to help with everything – but I feel the selfish urge to keep what happened in the bedroom a secret; to keep is safely locked away, where no one else can see it or touch it or change it. Sharing it with Izzy will just transform it into a story about that one kiss that happened at that one party with that one hot guy, when I know – or at least I think I know - that it was more.

I walk across my room and retrieve my phone, which is buried under a pile of X-men figurines that I knocked over with my last outburst, and dial his number with shaking fingers. Each beep of a key sends a wave of anxiety through my body, but I know that I won't get any rest until I figure out what's going on. Plus, it's not like I'm not allowed to talk to Magnus. I can be friends with whomever I wish.

I'm just about to push the call button, when Izzy comes bursting through the door, hair flying in every direction.

"Alec," she pants, not noticing my covert tossing of the cell phone on my bed. "It's Mom."

I can feel my body go numb. She knows. Somehow, she's figured out what happened and is calling to tell me that she hates me, or that she's disowning me, or that she's sending me to Timbuktu to work as a goat herder. My legs shake as I walk toward the study to accept the video call.

When I get there, my mother's face is already displayed on the screen. She doesn't look any different than usual, but that fact in itself isn't comforting, since she always looks terrifying.

"Alexander," she says when I'm in front of the screen. "Your sister tells me you've been well."

"Yes, Ma'am," I answer, hoping that the connection isn't so sharp that she can hear my teeth chattering.

"And your leg?" she asks, her face softening an infinitesimal amount.

"Better." I stretch it out to demonstrate the full range of motion. "The exercises have been proving worthwhile."

"Excellent. I will have to thank Dr. Baelish personally for his fine work. Now, there's something I need to discuss with you. A private matter."

Oh God, this is it. Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down and concentrate on keeping my face impassive.

"It's your sister," my mother says, and my relief is so sudden and so overwhelming that I feel momentarily disoriented.

"Izzy?" I manage to choke out.

"Yes, she contacted me a few weeks ago to express some concerns. She's very worried about you, and she brought up the matter of Private Herondale."

My relief is short lived. I trust Izzy, but there are only so many reasons she could have brought up Jace to my mother. I just hope she isn't stupid enough to believe that she could explain the situation and expect my mother to understand.

"Private Herondale," I repeat, determined to stay neutral until I find out what's going on.

"Yes, she told me that you two became quite good friends while you were away. So, at her request, I've pulled some files, and I called to let you know that he has been reassigned. He's with a new elite squadron – five of the best soldiers we have."

She continues to talk, but I don't register any of it. I can't believe that Izzy's done this. I convinced myself in the hospital that I would never ask anyone – not my old commanding officer, not my father, and not my mother – about Jace's whereabouts. Shutting down that part of my brain took months of antagonizing effort, and I can feel my control break with every new syllable my mother utters.

I hear her calling my name, and look back up at the screen. "That's classified information," I say, using every modicum of strength I possess to resist the urge to start screaming.

"That's why you would have to run any correspondence through me," my mother says, clearly irritated. "Honestly, Alexander, you don't listen any better now than when you were a child. Private Herondale is scheduled for leave in the next few months, and based on what Isabelle has told me, I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear from you."

I open my mouth to answer, but I hear the sound of my mother's door opening, and just like that, the call is over. No goodbye, no I love you, no apology; just classic Lightwood family time.

I hear the slightest shuffling of feet, and I realize that Izzy has been listening in on the whole conversation. Before she can slink away I turn around, ready to tell her exactly how I feel about her meddling in my life.

"Don't move," I whisper, hands clenched at my sides. "Don't you dare run away."

Izzy steps back into the room, her chin high and eyes narrowed. "Don't even pretend to be mad at me, Alec. Mom doesn't suspect anything, and this way you'll get to talk to Jace. That's what you want, isn't it?"

It's at times like these that I realize how like my mother I can be. Instead of crying or shouting, I just feel a cold fury. "You don't know anything," I spit at my sister, enjoying the look of hurt that spasms across her face. It's nothing compared to what I'm feeling. "You need to mind your own business."

"You are my business, Alec. Do you think that I can't tell that you're hurting? You don't need to hold it in all the time. You've been in your room for almost a week. Maybe talking to Jace will make you feel better."

I know that Izzy's trying to help, but with every word she says a new wave of anger radiates through my body. "Stop saying his name," I manage through gritted teeth. "Just stop talking."

The tendons in Izzy's neck are sticking out, and I can tell that she's trying her best to hold back. "Just tell me what's wrong, Alec," she pleads. "Is it because you love him? No one's going to find out. No one is going to know if you just write him a letter. I bet he misses you just as much as you miss him."

At the sound of her words – the words I want so desperately to believe, but know aren't true – I snap. Something inside that's been suppressing all the hurt and the pain and the rage just lets go. I wrap my arms around my chest to try to get it to just stop, but it doesn't work. Isabelle moves toward me but I bat her hand away. "Just stop talking about him, Isabelle!" I yell. "You don't know anything about him!"

Any trace of defiance is gone, and Izzy's black eyes are pooling with tears. "I know you saved his –"

"Don't even finish that sentence," I interrupt with some sort of strangled, high pitched cry. "You don't know what happened. NO ONE but Jace knows what happened!"

Before she can say anything else, I storm past her, running as fast as my leg will allow. I hear her call out behind me, but I ignore her, not stopping until I reach my room. When inside, I snatch the card off the desk – the stupid card that I spent so much time agonizing over while Jace was halfway around the world fighting to protect our country, while he was laughing with his new squad, while he was risking his life – and rip it up into a dozen pieces before collapsing on the bed and letting the rush of emotions take over.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Magnus

I've been sitting in the coffee shop for almost an hour when Josh arrives. I smile as I watch him make his way across the shop, his backpack strapped tightly around his chest and waist, envelopes and file-folders in his hands, and a satchel over his shoulder. His small frame is so completely overwhelmed by stuff that it's hard not to laugh; no matter how many times I tell him he doesn't have criminal masterminds living in his dorm, he refuses to believe me.

The barista is obviously alarmed by the amount of equipment Josh is lugging around, because she carries his coffee over and sets it on the table. Before turning around, she looks up through her dark lashes, and gives me a shy smile, but I just nod politely and wait for Josh to get settled in to his stool.

"Here are the files you asked for," he pants, dumping the pile on the table in front of me. "That one on top is the new guy…uh, Lightwood. Alexander Lightwood."

It takes phenomenal effort to act disinterested in Alec's file. I flip through the pages lazily, trying to act naturally, but the suspense of finally getting to know something about the enigmatic figure from my bedroom is driving me insane.

"I think I should be paid double for that one," Josh pipes in as he picks up his coffee. "You have no idea the security I had to – URGH."

I look up from the papers in time to see Josh's revulsion as he pushes the coffee cup across the table. "Magnus, if you're trying to sleep with that girl, can you just hurry up and get it over with?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Do you really think that if I wanted to sleep with that girl, we'd still be here? It would have taken one trip, and we wouldn't have even needed to stay for disgusting coffee."

Josh rolls his eyes and rifles around in his bag, coming up with an apple-grape juice box. "Then what," he says, stabbing the straw through the small strip of foil and taking a deep swig, "are we doing here? As you pointed out, the coffee is terrible and I don't get the family discount. Plus, everyone knows where to find us at The Hut."

"There's a client whose ex-boyfriend comes here a lot," I lie smoothly. "I just want to be able to keep an eye out while we go through the information. Kill two birds with one stone, and all that shit, you know? Now, what were you saying about Lightwood?"

"Which client?" Josh asks, digging a gargantuan bag of skittles out of his backpack.

"Erin Snell," I say. She's the first client I can think of who isn't married.

"Erin Snell?" Josh repeats, his eyes still on the bag of skittles. "She hired us to find her birth mother. What does that have to do with an ex-boyfriend?"

Crap. I should know better than to try to lie to Josh – all he has to do is read the files once and they're cemented in that brain of his forever. "Jesus, Josh, I don't fucking remember which client it was. Can you just stop digging through your damn Barney bag and tell me about the Lightwood case?"

"Sorry Magnus," he mumbles. He shoves his hand toward me, still avoiding my eyes, and I wish I could take my words back. Sitting in his palm are a pile of purple skittles: my favorite. He dumps them in my hand and then puts his favorite barrier – his computer – between us.

I place my hand on the laptop so that he can't open it, forcing him to look up at me. "I'm sorry, Josh," I say. And I really do mean it. I didn't mean to snap at him; thinking about Alec has seriously screwed me up. I give him a small smile. "Please continue your ploy for more money."

Luckily, Josh is a much better person than I am and has the added bonus of being physically incapable of staying mad at me. "It was not a ploy for more money, you jerk." He licks out his tongue, which is neon green from the skittles, and it's my turn for eye-rolling. "You have no idea how hard it was to get those files."

After the party, I started digging a little. Unfortunately, without Josh's prodigious hacking skills, I was unable to unearth anything substantial. Aside from the fact that his parents are high-ranking army officials and he was good enough to win the district spelling bee four years in a row, I came up with nadda. "I don't get it. We've had reason to pull up classified files before – what made it any different this time?"

"Well, probably the fact that Maryse Lightwood is pretty much God when it comes to the Army. She's at the top of the freaking food chain, and everything about her son is buried deeper than…than –"

"Than my dick down an Abercrombie model's throat?" I supply.

Josh's face flushes. "Magnus, we're in public. Exercise some control." He clears his throat before continuing. "Anyway, the point is that this information was hard to dig up. This Alexander Lightwood dude was in special ops – part of an elite squadron with a few other guys: Herondale, Lewis, Kyle, Greymark, and Penhallow. A few months ago the squad was carrying out some sort of mission – the files have all been either relocated or destroyed, so I don't really know what it was that they were doing – but a landmine exploded when they were right outside enemy territory. The blast killed one of the team members right away, and three others were killed in crossfire. The only one who survived the battle besides Alexander was Private Herondale, and according to the report, he would have burned to death if not for Lightwood."

"Burned to death?" I whisper, suddenly glad that I haven't had anything to eat yet today.

Josh nods his head and pops in a few more skittles. "Apparently Lightwood ran into the tent that Herondale was sleeping in at the time of the explosion, covered him in his own fire blanket, and dragged him out of there. Then, when the firing began, and he couldn't drag him any further, he covered him with his own body. Hence the reason for the honorable discharge: Alexander Lightwood suffered second and third degree burns along with extensive cuts from the shrapnel that flew out from the mine. He just got released from the Center for the Intrepid a few weeks ago."

The rush that usually comes with figuring things out is absent when I realize that this must be the reason why Alec ran away from me as soon as I tried to touch him last Friday. All I can feel is pain; pain that Alec had to go through that, pain that he obviously feels self-conscious, and pain that I'm the one who had to remind him of it. If anything, hearing the news of his injuries only fuels my compulsion to see him again; when I first met him I knew that he was unlike anyone else I had been with, but I had no idea just what kind of person he was. Perfect, apparently. The kind of person who runs into burning tents. The kind of person who's too good for someone like me.

"That's not even the weirdest part," Josh continues. "Lightwood's old commanding officer – a Corporal Ralley – nominated him for a Medal of Valor, but it was denied."

"That doesn't really sound that weird," I say, even though I would love to test the sanity of anyone who could think that that isn't the bravest fucking thing they've ever heard of. Maybe someone should light their back on fire and see how long they can deal with it.

"Agreed. That sort of thing happens all the time. However –" Josh holds one finger in the air, and pauses for a second. "The person who shot it down was his Mother."

His mother. Jesus that is seriously messed up; and that is coming from the guy whose mother abandoned him to gallivant across the country with a greasy car thief whose greatest achievement in life is having learned the alphabet. "That's awful," I say, taking a sip of Josh's disgusting coffee, just so that my hands will have something to do.

"Awful? What happened to 'Life's a bitch' or 'Sucks to not be Magnus Bane', or whatever else it is you say whenever you uncover something terrible? Another thing – would you mind telling me why I risked my place at Columbia to find all this out? Who wants information on Alexan – "

Halfway through Josh's diatribe, the front door of the café jingles, and in walks the very man we're talking about. Even though this is the closest coffee shop to his apartment, I had no idea if he would actually show up. I have no idea if he even likes coffee. Still, six days and I don't even want to think about how many hours, and he's finally here.

"Shut up Josh," I hiss, flicking my head toward the door. "That's him."

"What?" Trying to act inconspicuous, but obviously knocking over every one of the eighteen fucking bags he has with him, Josh turns toward the entrance. "Holy," he breathes, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I know, right? Isn't he the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

Josh raises his eyebrows, and I immediately curse my word vomit. I didn't mean for that to slip out, but Alec just does something to my brain. "I was going to say that he looks pretty messed up." Josh's eyebrows are narrowed, and he has his thinking face on: eyebrows and nose all scrunched up, eyes half-crossed, neurons working so fast that I'm surprised it doesn't make him dizzy. There's no other choice but to abort.

"I'm going to go make contact," I say, jumping up from my stool before he can argue. "I'll buy you a cupcake, cupcake."

I sneak a quick glance in the window as I'm walking up to the counter – fabulous, as usual. Now, I just need to act as if Alec does not turn my brain to mush. I've got this.

I'm only a few feet away when Alec looks up from the floor. He looks tired – the skin beneath his eyes looks alarmingly blue against his alabaster tone. He's wearing a huge hoodie, and his expression reminds me of Jamie Marx, a kid I went to elementary school with, who got beaten up all the time for lunch money. Josh was right – he does look pretty messed up.

One upside: while Alec looks surprised to see me, he only looks minimally terrified. "Magnus?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey there beautiful," I say, just loud enough so that no one but Alec can hear. "I'm just getting a cupcake for my friend Josh."

Alec pears over my shoulder to where Josh is sitting, and I get the feeling that he's a little jealous. It feels kind of nice.

"Is he your…"

"Boyfriend? No, we've known each other since we were kids. He did my math homework for me and I kept people from beating him up. He still does work for me, but now he keeps people from beating me up too. He's definitely getting the short end of the stick with this friendship."

Alec smiles a little, making my heart squeeze, and then the barista – I've been coming here for almost a week, and I still haven't even bothered to get her name, such is my condition – calls him up and he orders a black, decaffeinated coffee. What's even the point? I order a café mocha for myself and a vanilla cupcake for Josh, and then turn to face him again.

"So, do you want to come sit with us? See life on the inside?"

He looks around, as if worried that the whole establishment is interested in his every move, but obviously decides that it's safe, since he plods along behind me. He pulls up a stool from the adjacent table, trying to find a place for his coffee amongst Josh's paraphernalia.

"Alec, this is – "

"Ragnor," Josh interrupts. "Ragnor Fell."

"Nice to meet you," Alec answers. He glances between the two of us. "Were your parents hippies or something?"

I snort into my coffee while Josh just sits there, open-mouthed. Josh's parents belong to a country club. They're the play tennis, eat caviar, and vote Republican kind of people; Josh has to re-dye his hair and hide all his clothes whenever they come to town. Safe to say they're not my biggest fans either.

"I mean, you just both have really weird names. I mean, not weird. Different. You have different names." His cheeks flush and he cowers behind his coffee cup.

Josh raises his eyebrows at me, but I kick him under the table before he can say anything rude. Then, to try to save this encounter before it completely implodes on itself, I do my best to salvage Alec's fading desire to speak. "So, Alexander, how's life? Is New York keeping you busy?"

He takes another gulp of coffee, and I wonder how much abuse his throat can take.

And then I get hard. Perfect.

"Not really, I mostly just sit around the house, bored out of my…" He glances up at my face, and looks immediately mortified. "I mean, except for the past few days. This week has been really busy. So much to do – Izzy hasn't left me alone for more than five minutes. I was going to call, honestly. I was just really…busy." By now, his face looks like a red delicious and his feet are swinging so quickly that he gets Josh in the shins. He bumbles out an apology and then nearly jumps out of his seat when his cell phone buzzes.

"That's Izzy. I have to go," he says, jumping out of his chair. "It was nice to meet you, Ragnor. And Magnus –" He hesitates for a moment. "I'll call you, I promise. I mean, if you still want me to?"

He truly looks sorry, standing there, his lip caught between his teeth, and I let myself believe that his ignoring me had more to do with fear than apathy. "Of course I do, gorgeous," I say, giving him a quick wink. "Anytime."

He spins around – surprisingly fast for someone who's recovering from a debilitating leg injury I might add – and barrels toward the door, almost knocking into a young girl on the way out.

As soon as he's gone, Josh slams his computer shut and starts shoving everything he owns back in his bags. "I cannot believe you," he snarls, his eyes flashing. "I took some serious risks getting you information on that guy, and all because you want to fuck him."

Uh oh. Josh must be really pissed if he's swearing – and in public, no less.

"It's not like that, Josh. I –"

"You what, Magnus? You like him. Yeah, I'll –" He stops to look at me for a second. "You do," he whispers. "Oh my god. That's why we've been here for the past week. That's why you're the one waiting on me for once. It all had to do with him." He spits out the words like they're burning his tongue. "You're infatuated with him."

"Infatuated? Please, Josh. You're going to have to do better than that."

"Oh yeah? How about smitten? Enamored? Twitterpated?"

I scoff. "Twitterpated?"

"Yes, Magnus, twitterpated. Never seen fucking Bambi?"

"Calm down, Josh," I urge, trying to stop this from becoming our first true fight. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Alec."

"Oh, so he's Alec now? How about Allie? Are you his Maggie?" The hurt is plain in Josh's voice – clearly he thinks he's being replaced. He leans in close and the smell of skittles washes over me. "I hacked into government databases for you Magnus. I risked my education for you. Do you know how much shit I could get in for what I did? I could go to jail! And all so you can get screwed over by some mama's boy army dude who I'm pretty sure would rather be lit on fire again than have anyone figure out he's gay. His mother is a freaking general, Magnus. He's had your number for a week and hasn't bothered to call. Do you even care? So much for being Magnus Bane, the guy who does all the ignoring and never gets ignored."

He yanks his bag up from under the table, not accounting for its weight, and ends up sprawled on the floor, his stool clattering down beside him. I jump up to help him, but the look of rage he gives me forces me back into my seat.

"Don't even move," he spits. "You keep your selfish ass in that seat and leave me alone." Then, oblivious to the stares he's getting from everyone else in the café, he rushes off in the same direction as Alec, his bag bouncing off his shoulders with every step.

I know going after him will do me no good – I can't get into his dorm by myself. He is right about one thing though: this Alec situation is getting out of hand. I'm acting like a twelve year old girl. And since the only person who knows how to comfort me just stormed away, my only other option is Pandemonium. Even at four o'clock in the afternoon it'll have ample supply of the two things I need to temporarily escape: booze and blowjobs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, an additional disclaimer: Yiruma is a real pianist, whose music I really enjoy. If you haven't listened, you should :)

Chapter Eleven: Alec

In the two days since I ran into Magnus at the coffee shop I've played the scene over and over in my head, trying to find out if there is any possible way I didn't make a complete ass of myself. There's not. Not only did I manage to insult Magnus's friend – who I'm pretty sure didn't want me there to begin with – I also told him that I had nothing better to do all week than sit around and not call him. He probably only told me it was still okay to call to be polite. Or maybe he told me so that he could record the inevitably humiliating conversation and post it on dorksdotcom.

Basically, even though seeing Magnus a second time cemented the fact that I am very, very attracted to him and that I would definitely love to spend more time with him, I'm too afraid to call. That's me: Alexander Lightwood, big, fat, yellowbellied coward. Not that this is news or anything.

Further complicating the already tenuous situation with Magnus is the temptation to contact Jace. For months, the urge to see Jace ate away at me relentlessly. At the Centre, it was all that I could think about; twelve hours a day in a bed, with nothing to do but wish I could have five more minutes – five more seconds – with him. Now, all I can think of is rejection. Of trying to contact him and getting back any of the answers that wake me up in the middle of the night: you killed my friends, Alec; you think I didn't notice your disgusting infatuation, Alec; everything was ruined because of you, Alec. No, I think the safe option is to just go on as I have been, letting each day eat up a little more of my memory, a little more of my pain.

I really don't know what to do. I only know three things for certain: first, no matter how far away Jace is, I definitely still have feelings for him; second, I know there's definitely no way that I will ever be with him; and lastly, whenever Magnus is around the pain of wanting Jace is completely overwhelmed by…well, I don't know what. A huge ball of feelings that I can't interpret or control. With Jace, I felt a steady heat; I was in a constant state of admiring his perfection and convincing myself that I could never have it. But with Magnus, it's like a succession of fireworks; I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't resist. When Magnus is around, it's like Jace Herondale never existed, but as soon as I'm alone, all the old feelings come right back to the surface. I don't really know how to make sense of any of this. In fact, there's only person I know who has a chance of making any sense of this: my sister.

Things with Izzy have been strained since our argument. She's apologized three separate times, but she hasn't actually talked to me since it happened. Whenever we pass each other in the house she just lowers her eyes and walks in the other direction. I guess she thinks that I'm still mad at her.

Maybe I am. After all, if she hadn't interfered in my business, I would be one step closer to putting my feelings about Jace behind me. Still, I know that her motivations were completely innocent; touching, even. She was just worried about me. Really, the fight could have been avoided if I had just told her what really happened that day.

Hopefully asking her for help with Magnus will convince her that I've forgiven her.

As I approach Izzy's room, I can hear the soft sound of the piano flowing out from behind her door; Isabelle has always been the musical one in the family. I knock loudly, hoping that she won't be able to use music as a means of ignoring me; she knows I won't come in unless she invites me.

"Izzy?" I call softly, hoping that she'll be able to tell that I'm not angry.

The piano stops and I hear the bench scraping across the floor. "Come in," she responds.

Being inside Izzy's room clues me in to just how upset she's been; everything is clean. There are no half-filled bowls of cereal, no discarded outfits littering the floor, no makeup strewn over the vanity. Her room is cleaner than mine, and that takes some serious time and effort.

"Hey," I say, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "That sounded nice. What was it?"

"Yiruma" she replies, her tone neutral.

Obviously she's not going to make this easy for me. An expert in small talk wouldn't be able to get Izzy to let out more than a few words right now, so my chances are approximately one in six trillion. May as well just jump into the main event, I guess. I don't know why I think I can start a relationship with someone I don't even know if I feel awkward trying to talk to my own sister.

"Iz, I wanted to talk to you about something."

At my words, Izzy becomes defensive; her face tightens, her hands clench around the duvet she had been smoothing out, and her eyes flash darkly. "Alec, I told you a hundred times I was sorry. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"No, that's not it." I try to stay neutral, like she did, but I can feel my damn cheeks giving me away.

Izzy doesn't fail to notice. It's amazing how someone's whole demeanor can change so rapidly; all traces of frustration disappear, replaced immediately by concern. "What is it, Alec? Is everything all right?"

"Well, not really," I admit. "I have a bit of a problem. Last week at the party, when I kind of disappeared for a little while, I was with…well, I was with Magnus Bane." After the words are out, I feel silly for having put this off so long; instead of belittling the encounter with Magnus, talking about it makes it seems more real, more manageable.

Izzy's mouth is hanging open, but she can't seem to say anything. I'm about to poke her to see if I've given her some sort of stroke, when she asks, "as in with Magnus Bane?"

As soon as I nod my head, she catapults herself into me, knocking both of us to the floor. "Oh my god, Alec!" she squeals, a huge smile lighting up her face. "Magnus fucking Bane! I cannot believe you didn't tell me this sooner, you ass!" The jubilation doesn't last long, however; before she can get down to asking for details she falls quiet. "But you said there was a problem? He didn't hurt you, did he?" The contrast between this Isabelle and the one who tackled me to the ground is almost frightening. This is why I don't worry about my sister when I'm away; she's not the kind of girl that anyone should fuck with.

"No, no, no," I assure her. "You were right the first time: I'm an ass. I threw away his number after you told mom about Jace, and then I ran into him at the café down the street and basically told him as much. I really like him, Iz, it's just that I feel so –"

"Guilty?" my sister fills in.

I nod, and she reaches over to squeeze my hand.

"You shouldn't," she says. "I know that you have feelings for Jace – maybe you always will – but if you really like Magnus then you should go for it. If you don't, thinking about what might have happened will eventually drive you crazy."

She's right; I know she's right, but it just feels nice to hear someone else say it out loud. "But what if I just feel this way because Magnus makes me forget about Jace? Wouldn't it be wrong to lead him on?"

"Yeah, it totally would. But there's no way to know if that's how you really feel if you don't give it a chance. Look, Alec, I'm sorry about the Jace thing, but I did it because I was worried about you. I look at you and I see you becoming exactly like mom; burying your emotions away until there's nothing left to feel. I don't want you to end up like that. I know that things aren't exactly simple in this situation, but if there's any way that seeing Magnus Bane can make it better, then I really think you should go for it. You'll be able to tell if it's real." She gets up from the bed and walks over to her vanity, rifling through a stack of papers. After a moment, she walks over a pushes a card into my palm – Magnus's card. I don't tell her that I already have the number memorized – it's not like she needs to know everything.

"Call him," she says. "You chicken shit."

I shove her off the bed again before I get up to leave. When I get to the door I turn around to find her looking at me, a silly grin on her face and her head tilted to the side. "What?" I ask, grinning myself.

"I love you, Alec," she says.

"I love you too, Iz."

"All right, now get out of my room. This is getting too wishy-washy for my taste."

And just like that, the fight is finally over.

When I get back to my room, I don't feel nervous at all about phoning Magnus. While the rings are going through I feel a tingle of excitement, but none of the foreboding that has haunted me since our first encounter at the party.

He picks up after the fourth ring. His voice is silky and smooth; even the crackly reception can't diminish how sexy it is.

"Hey Magnus, this is Alec. Alec Lightwood."

"Hey beautiful," he responds.

His attention and the space separating us make me bold. "Are you busy right now?" I ask.

"Not particularly. Nothing I can't reschedule."

"Good. I was wondering if I could maybe come over. You said we could talk."

"That I did," he responds, and I can practically hear his signature grin. "Come on over."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Magnus

It takes Alec thirty-nine minutes and 16 seconds to get to my door.

I know that, because as soon as we hang up the phone I go into a state of semi-panic. Alec was raised by two army officials and he spent the last four years of his life training and fighting in an elite military squadron. My house makes me look like I was raised in the hills of Mongolia by Genghis Khan, and I'm afraid it will send him into some kind of mess-induced neurosis and that he'll never come back.

So, thirty-four of my precious preparation minutes are used up trying to cram all my shit into my bedroom – not that I think I couldn't get him in there if I wanted to, but for once, it isn't about that – leaving just over five minutes to get ready. Five fucking minutes. Good thing I'm naturally fabulous; all it takes is a quick change of clothes and some eyeliner, and I'm set. Ready to sprawl out on the sofa and act completely collected.

So collected, in fact, that I almost roll onto the floor at the sound of the buzzer.

When I buzz him in, I hear Alec's thumping all the way from the bottom of the stairs and can picture the scuffed black combat boots he was wearing at the café. Horrible boots, and I really couldn't care less. I walk over and open the door so that he doesn't have to knock a second time, and he almost barrels into me.

"In a rush to get somewhere?" I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

"Sorry," he answers. I can feel his breath on my cheek, we're so close. I don't know why that affects me; I dance this close to people all the time.

"Come in," I say, taking the opportunity to brush my hand against his arm. "Do you want to take off your sweater?"

I regret the words as soon as I say them, but they don't seem to affect Alec that much. He just shakes his head and draws his sleeves down farther, clasping them in his hands, drawing into himself. It makes my heart twinge but I doubt it's even a conscious movement for him.

While Alec wanders into the living room to get comfortable, I run to the kitchen to get some water. I bring out a glass for him, figuring that he'll need it with the sweater, and find him on his knees in front of the couch, his hand stuck underneath. Despite the fact that he's wearing the shittiest pair of jeans I've ever seen, being greeted by the sight of his ass wipes my mind so blank that the glass of water tumbles right out of my hand and onto the floor. The glass doesn't shatter, but the sound certainly scares Alec; he snaps his head up with a jolt, and his hand tightens around my cat – the reason for his position, I assume – who gives him a good bite before taking off.

"Oh my god, let me help you," he half-squeaks, scooting across the floor to pick up the glass and put it in my hand. His fingers rub gently against mine, and I step forward involuntarily, getting my foot completely soaked in the process.

"I should get something to clean that up," Alec whispers, turning his flushed face down to the floor.

"Nonsense," I reply, internally delighted at the fact that he seems to be just as affected by my presence as I am by his. "Park that adorable ass on the sofa and I'll be right back."

He doesn't argue, and when I come back I bring some antiseptic cream and a bandage for the cut on his hand. I almost hand it to him, but the urge to touch him is so powerful that I just take his hand in mine, praying that he won't yank it away. He doesn't, but I can feel a slight tremor at the contact, and I do my best to peer up at him covertly as I'm applying the cream.

His impossibly blue eyes are wide and bright, and he's breathing with an exaggerated slowness that I know must be forced. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and he seems entranced by my fingers.

I remove a purple Band-Aid from its package and smooth it over the back of his hand. "I'm sorry that happened. Chairman Meow doesn't usually bite."

He runs his tongue over his lips before answering and it takes all my self-control to stop myself from leaning down and licking them myself. "It's okay, I get bitten a lot."

He doesn't catch what he's said until it's too late. "Well that's good news," I tease, grinning. "Because I like to bite."

He looks panicked at my comment – as if he thinks that I really take him for some sort of sexual miscreant – and scrambles to save face. "No. No, that's not what I meant." He looks down at his feet, and I feel a little guilty for teasing – I didn't realize the actual extent of his innocence. I make a mental note to keep the innuendos to a minimum. "I just meant that I have a cat," he says, looking up to take in my reaction. "His name is Church."

"Church?"

Alec nods. "Yeah, Isabelle and I found him in this abandoned church near our house when we were kids, and that's what we decided to name him. We thought he was an angel cat that had turned up just for us. Too bad he actually turned out to be the spawn of Satan."

I laugh at Alec's expression, and he allows himself a quick grin. The motion lights up his whole face, and I make it my personal mission to make sure it happens more often. "Poor thing. He can't be all that bad."

Alec looks solemn as he answers, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing again. "Seriously," he insists, "if there was a kitty cult, Church would be the one handing out the Kool-Aid."

My laughter seems to make him relax, and he settles back into the sofa, his head tilted to the side. Strands of hair fall over his eyes but he doesn't seem to notice. I'm just about the reach over and push them back when he leans forward. "I love that print," he says, actually getting up from the chair to walk toward the painting on my wall. "I wanted to go to the Van Gogh museum the last time I was in Amsterdam, but all Izzy wanted to do was get drunk and hook up with hot Dutch guys."

I join him by the wall, taking in the colors and strokes, and also taking in the awed look on his face as he admires the painting. "It's not a print," I say, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" Alec's mouth hangs open. I can't help but feel a little proud. "That's the. How did. What?" he says again, unable to come out and ask how I managed to get the original.

"The owner was a client," I say. "I did him a favor and that was how he decided to repay me."

"That must have been one hell of a favor," Alec murmurs, looking even more enraptured by the painting. "What exactly do you do?" he asks without looking up. "All I know about you is that you do 'favors' and that you live in a gigantic apartment." He looks at me, worried, and I I'm pretty sure I can follow his train of thought all the way to…really expensive call-boy.

"Well, I'm not a hooker if that's what you're thinking," I reply, knowing by the look on his face that I've guessed correctly. I shrug, wanting to make him work for it. "I just know people. I have a lot of connections."

"Because that's not deliberately vague." He gives me a pointed look and I stop teasing.

"All right, if people need things done, they come to me. I have connections all over the city – across the country, really – and I know how to get things done fast. If someone needs to prove an ex-boyfriend is spying on them? I can get it done. If someone needs to track down a long-lost sibling, I get down to it. Tickets for events, agents, auditions – I can usually give people what they want."

Alec still looks confused. "So, you're like a private investigator?"

I give a fake shudder. "Not really. Sleuthing isn't really for me – all night stake-outs really cut into my extracurriculars, if you know what I mean." I resist the urge to wink. "I'm more like the middle link in a chain, you could say. I know who to get in contact with to solve just about any problem." I pause, needing to give credit where credit is due. "And uh, Ragnor helps a little, too. He's the technical side of the operation."

"Sounds like magic," Alec says, finally satisfied with an answer.

"That's me. Magnus Bane, granting people's wishes every day."

Alec looks like he's about to say something further, but decides against it and goes back to admiring the picture. I leave him in peace; I reacted much the same way when the owner – an art dealer who'd needed my help to prove that he wasn't selling fake prints – offered it to me as payment. He insisted that since I'd saved him millions of dollars and his reputation, I could have whichever piece of his I wanted. I know he thought that I was taking Irises for its value, but he was wrong. When I was a kid, during the few years I spent with my mother that I can actually remember, we would spend out weekends at museums. It was the only thing that we both liked. The one thing that made me feel closer to her than anything else. Van Gogh was her favorite, and looking at that painting helps me recapture that feeling, even if it's just for a second.

When I snap out of my thoughts, I notice that Alec is staring at me. Unlike me, he seems unable to do it inconspicuously. "I dream of painting and then I paint my dream," he says.

I raise my eyes and he continues.

"Van Gogh said that. 'I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.'"

"Do you memorize famous quotes to impress all your dates?" I ask.

Again, there's no beating around the bush. I doubt Alec could be coy to save his life. "No, it's just something that I used to do," he answers. "And this is my first date." He looks back toward the picture, embarrassed, but I couldn't be any happier about his confession: there's something about his lack of experience that both intrigues me and makes me feel a nervous rush that I haven't felt since I was about thirteen. It makes me not want to fuck this up.

I just smile at him, and walk back to the sofa. "So, you memorize quotes for fun? Why on Earth would you want to do that?"

Alec folds one of his legs under himself as he sits down. "It wasn't really by choice. When I was on assignment in Iraq, I was placed in a squadron with a bunch of guys I'd never met before. Most people know about me because of my parents, so it wasn't really easy to get to know new team members. People usually assumed that I was sent on assignments directly by my mother so that I could report their mistakes back to her. Or that I wasn't really a good soldier and just coasted on my mother's status. Or both."

He pauses, and I nod to show him that I'm not bored. He takes a deep breath and continues.

"But there was one guy who was worse than all the others. He did whatever he could to try to get to me, which included always quoting passages from other languages and famous poems and acting like he was completely getting one over on me. Then one day, when he was being particularly obnoxious, I kind of snapped." He gives me a sheepish grin, as if he can't believe he did something so crass. I sincerely hope he never sees me get into a bitch fight with Kelly – he would probably never get over it.

"Anyway, I just started quoting random passages in all the languages I know. It took like ten minutes for them to get out, and by the time I was done, he just grinned at me, as if the torment was just some kind of test that I had finally passed. Anyway, after that it kind of became a competition between us." He stops, and I notice a change in his expression – something that he's trying really hard to hold back.

"Are you okay?" I ask, shifting a little closer to him.

"I'm fine," he answers. "It's just that I haven't really talked a lot about what's happened since I got back. I'm glad I can talk to you." He smiles shyly.

I smile back. "So, what's the name of the torture-friend that I have to thank for impromptu Van Gogh quotes?"

"Jace," he says softly. The word comes out as a murmur, a caress. "Jace Herondale."

So much for having no competition. I feel a strange bubbling of envy, and realize that I'm jealous. Jealous of this boy I've never met. A boy that Alec clearly loves. A boy that Alec would – and almost did – die for.

Thankfully, Alec doesn't seem to want to rest on this topic any more than I do, so it isn't hard to get him started on something else. Once he gets going, he has more interesting to say than anyone else I've ever met. I hear a lot about his adventures with Isabelle as an army brat, and it's nice to watch as he slowly relaxes, until he's folded into the sofa and talking with exaggerated hand gestures. With every laugh and nervous pause I find myself becoming more invested in him – more eager to know everything about him.

It's past midnight before we realize the time. Izzy texts Alec in a panic – thinking he was abducted by a creepy cabby or something – and his disappointment at having to leave makes me forget about Jace Herondale…almost.

I walk over to see him out. Once he's ready to go and we're leaning against the door, I feel the familiar rigidity wash over him. All traces of calm are gone, and bright, nervous eyes are back.

I see him reach for the doorknob, but I lean forward and place my hand over his. "If I kissed you right now, would you run away and forget to call me again?"

He shakes his head, and I reach out to run my fingers through the pieces of hair that are curling around his temple. He makes a small hitching noise, and I rub my hand down his cheek before wrapping it around his neck. The other snakes around his waist.

Holding true to his word, he doesn't flinch. Instead, he wraps both his arms around my neck, pulling me closer. As his fingers graze my skin, I feel a shudder go down my spine. I feel a tingling, running all the way up to my throat, and although I've kissed more people than I could ever hope to remember, this feels like the first time. Sloppy drunk kisses followed by sloppy drunk sex can't compare to the way I feel as Alec presses his body against mine, parting his lips in anticipation.

When my lips finally graze his, I can feel him melt into me. My leg brushes against his, and he sighs, sending a wave of warmth through my whole body. This kiss is deeper than the one in my bedroom and Alec's tongue reaches out tentatively to meet mine. He tastes exactly like I remember.

When he finally needs to breathe I trail my lips down his neck, kissing the small section of skin left uncovered. My senses are overloaded; all I can smell, taste, and feel is Alec, and when he breaks away I can barely stand up straight. He looks to be in the same condition, his lips now shining as brightly as his eyes.

When he leaves, I hide behind the curtains and watch him climb into his cab. I can still feel the weight of his arms on my neck, and all I want is to follow him across town. His smell is infused in my t-shirt and his taste lingers on my lips. I start to walk toward the bathroom, but then think better of it, instead going straight to bed. And I fall asleep surrounded by Alec Lightwood.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen: Alec

There's a property in physics called the Magnus Effect, whereby a spinning object creates a whirlpool around itself, and experiences a certain force. Basically, it's what makes the curved motion of a spinning ball. Right now, that whole thing my high school physics teacher told me about practical applications and "seeing science in the real world" is proving absolutely true. I'm living my very own Magnus effect, trapped in a vortex of emotion that's spinning so fast it can't be controlled. Being with Magnus addicting; whenever I see him I get so wrapped up that everything else falls away. His presence lifts me until every problem that I have seems small and insignificant. Problem is – with physics and with life – that kind of energy can't be sustained forever, and the faster I spin, the harder I'll crash. I just can't bring myself to care.

It's just that Magnus is so…perfect. Sure, he's everything he seemed at his party – flamboyant, provocative, and more than just a little bit arrogant – but he's also sexy and funny and understanding. When I brought up my concerns about our…friendship staying private, he just dropped a wink and said that a gentleman never tells. When I clam up about something that's happened in the past, he doesn't pry. And – probably because I made such a scene the night of our first kiss – he never, ever lets his hands wander anywhere that's covered with clothing. I'm not an idiot – I know that someone who moves like him and talks like him and kisses like him is far from inexperienced. But I also know that I'm going to have to be the one who makes the next move. And that is absolutely terrifying.

Sometimes, when we're on Magnus's couch or up against his door, and my mind is having a hard enough time telling my lungs to breathe and my heart to beat, I find my hands wandering toward the bottom of Magnus's shirt. To the strip of golden skin that's more often than not exposed and begging to be touched. I know that as soon as I do that, I'll be giving him permission to follow suit. And that's what I want, really. Well, that's what my body wants. My body wants Magnus's hands everywhere. If a finger ghosting across my cheek or a thumb running down my palm can make me see Technicolor kaleidoscopes and make me feel like I'm burning from the inside out, I can only imagine – and I have, extensively – what the next level would evoke.

My problem is threefold. One: I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm learning as I go, and although Magnus is to kissing what Coach K is to basketball, even he doesn't have the skill to instruct me on how to be seductive. Two: there's a little tiny part of my brain that wonders if Magnus doesn't want any more. The muffled moans and hitched breaths and leather pants that hide absolutely nothing make that theory a little hard to swallow, but it's still there. After all, what can I give him that he hasn't had from someone who actually knows what they're doing? Three: my constant companion, fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of repulsion. Fear of putting an end to the way that Magnus looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention: like I'm the most perfect thing he's ever seen.

If only he knew.

By now, I could walk to Magnus's apartment blindfolded. Every tiny crack in the pavement, root peeking up from beneath the sidewalk, and unexpected incline are etched into my brain; small obstacles on the pathway that brings me where I need to be. Even so, nothing about going to see him feels routine. Every time I get the same nervous pattering in my chest, my air coming in just a little too fast and a little too sharp. The same feeling that this is too good to be true.

But once I'm in front of his building and see him peeping out from behind the curtains, pretending not to be watching for me, it all feels okay. The air settles. The panic dissipates. It feels like there's an us and not just a me.

Just to play along, I ring the buzzer and wait for him to answer.

"This is Magnus." His lazy drawl rolls out across the street.

I'll hand it to him, Magnus is quite the performer. Even though I've just seen him looking at me, I'm half convinced that he doesn't know who's at the door.

"It's me," I reply, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. Me. I still find it hard to believe that I'm Magnus Bane's 'me'; the voice on the other side of the intercom that he immediately recognizes. That he anticipates. "Let me in, it's cold."

His reply is low and sexy and warms me up more than stepping inside ever could. "Excellent, I know just the thing you need."

When I reach the top of the stairs, Magnus is there to greet me. Instead of soft, hesitant embraces to close an evening, I now get hot, necessary kisses that are fueled by the energy that amassed while we were apart, and explode with an insuppressible fury. The kind of kisses that turn what seemed like an eternity into a barely conceivable memory. And that's what being with Magnus is like, really.

"I missed you," he purrs in my ear as we navigate our way over to the couch. I don't reply; just press my lips harder against his, as if I can somehow imbibe his confidence. I don't know how to say things like that without everything coming out wrong, so I just rely on my tongue in other ways, hoping that he gets the message that I missed him too. I can only assume he does, since he pulls me even closer, not realizing that we're about to fall right into the soft leather cushions.

Usually this is the point where Magnus hesitates. Where he takes my face in his hands and kisses me lightly, as if anything more than a whisper could break whatever magic holds us together. Usually, I'm happy to let him. But now, after days without so much as a phone call while he was away on business, breaking away from him seems like the most acute form of torture. Breaking away is impossible. So, when my knees bump against the furniture, I just let myself fall and drag Magnus down with me.

As soon as his body settles into mine, Magnus's eyes snap open and he pulls away. Even he can't feign nonchalance now; his eyes are wide and I can feel his heart beating wildly through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. "Are you sure?" he whispers, his breath ragged.

In response, I lean forward and kiss the hollow of his collarbone, dragging my teeth across the sensitive skin. Then, as the sound of Magnus's gasp fills my ears and before I can think better of it, I slide my hands down his back and over the stretch of skin that's been tantalizing me for so long. As expected, it's soft and smooth, and when I slip my hands all the way up his back, Magnus falls into me. His presses his hips down, and the sensation of him rubbing against me feels so good that it's almost painful; I can't stop a low groan from escaping my throat. For a second I'm nervous – embarrassed – but the sound just spurs Magnus on.

My name tumbles from his lips and he pushes against me again, sending waves of pleasure through my body. His hands unwind from my neck and find the zipper on my hoodie. "Can I?" he whispers into my lips, and his concern, present even through the haze of lust, makes me confident that I can show him. That I can trust him.

I nod my head, and once he has permission, he's back to normal. Back to teasing, seductive Magnus. He buries his head in my neck and inches the zipper down slowly, while giving the slightest swivel of his hips. I let out a small whimper, and I can feel the vibration of his laughter against my throat. Not wanting to be outdone, I trail the tips of my fingers along his sides, and capture his lips in mine as the sensation makes him shudder. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the sweater is undone and I lean forward to let him peel it away from my skin, when someone bursts through the front door.

"Magnus, I know we're supposed to be fighting, but something terrible happ–. Oh my God, this is a bad time." I jolt up, pulling my sweater back around me in time to see someone shrinking back around the corner.

The look in Magnus's eyes tells me how hard it is for him to pull himself away, but when he speaks, his voice is perfectly even. "Come sit down, Josh." Mortified, I try to shrink back into the cushions, praying for them to swallow me whole. Magnus, though he's not even looking at me, seems to be able to detect my distress, and curls his fingers into mine. For a split second I contemplate pulling my hand away, but I know that would hurt Magnus's feelings. When he starts rubbing his thumb along my knuckles, I'm ashamed that I ever let the thought surface.

"What's up, Josh?" Magnus asks when his friend takes the seat across from us.

Josh doesn't answer. Instead, his eyes are glued on us – more specifically, on our intertwined hands. His eyebrows knit together – in anger or pain, I'm not really sure – and I realize that I've seen this guy before. Right now, he looks much more like a college student and decidedly less like Magnus – there's no green in his hair, he doesn't have anything on his face, and he's wearing a baggy Columbia sweatshirt – but it's definitely the same guy.

"Your name is Josh?"

His eyes finally snap up to meet mine, and I'm a little taken aback by how angry he looks.

"Why'd you tell me it was Ragnor?" I try my best not to blush – but honestly, I wish I had just kept my mouth shut. I don't understand what's wrong with me – I'm going to go with congenital brain defect. Ragnor, or Josh, or whatever his name is, looks as if he'd like nothing more than to pick up the lamp from Magnus's end table and beat me to death with it. I almost wouldn't blame him.

"None of your business," he snarls, and I feel Magnus stiffen beside me. His grip on my hand tightens, and I put my free hand on his knee to try to let him know it's okay. Again, even though I can feel Magnus's tension, his voice gives nothing away.

"Come on Josh," he says, narrowing his eyes. "That's no way to talk to my boyfriend."

Boyfriend. Boyfriend? This time it's my hand that squeezes involuntarily, and when Magnus sucks in a quick breath, I'm afraid that I may have broken a bone. I loosen my grip, and he gives me a quick smile. Though the declaration was smooth and confident, I can see in his eyes that Magnus is a little worried. The concern there – the same doubt that I see so often in myself – makes it hard to keep breathing. Not only does Magnus Bane want me to be his boyfriend, he's actually worried about my response.

"It's okay, Magnus," I murmur, barely able to speak for the wave of adrenaline that's coursing through my veins. "I don't think he –"

But I'm cut short by a muffled cry. "I'm sorry, I have to go." I see Josh disappear into the kitchen, and Magnus jumps up to go after him. "Just give us a minute, Alec," he says, kissing my fingers quickly.

Magnus catches up to Josh before he can get out of the apartment, and although I'm doing my best to ignore their conversation – I've never been one to pry – they're both talking so loud that it's impossible not to hear.

"Josh, don't go like this," Magnus pleads. "We haven't talked for almost a month."

"And whose fault is that?" Josh spits back. I recoil into the couch, hoping against the rather obvious evidence that the trouble between Magnus and his friend isn't because of me.

"I know I was stupid, but I said I was sorry. I texted you a hundred times, sent you emails. You have to forgive me." The pain in Magnus's voice is clear, and I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Though the shame is instantaneous, I edge a little closer to where they're standing.

"I do forgive you." Josh's voice is softer now, and my heart aches a little for him. If he does want to be more than Magnus's friend, that's an urge I can understand wholeheartedly. Not only I am completely enraptured by Magnus, I'm also the reigning expert on unrequited love. "He's really your boyfriend?"

Magnus laughs, and I wish I could see his face. He sounds nervous. "Well, I hope so. I kind of blurted that out without really asking him first."

"So, there hasn't been anyone else?" Josh sounds skeptical, and I don't really know how to take that. I mean, I assumed Magnus was…active before we started dating, but Josh makes it sound like Magnus being faithful to one person is about as likely as him waking up with magical powers.

"Nobody," Magnus says. "Not since the first night he came over."

Josh doesn't answer.

"Come on, Joshie." He has a pet name for him? I do my best to smother another spasm of jealousy – they're best friends, after all. "Come in and meet him. I think you guys will get along great."

Half a minute goes by in complete silence. Then, even quieter than before, Josh says a single word: "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Magnus hisses under his breath.

"You barely know the guy, Magnus. You're acting crazy, and I'm worried about you."

Magnus sounds pissed now, but the frustration is making him more aware of his voice, and he keeps it low. I get as close to the wall as I can without them seeing me.

"Crazy? For four fucking years you've been writing to my mother, telling her stories about my "escapades" and now I've finally found someone that I care about, and you're complaining? I don't understand."

My face flushes, and I'm glad Magnus is not sitting beside me – I'm pretty sure I'd burn his hand if he touched me right now.

"I do want you to be with someone. Just not him."

No, you want it to be you. Any sympathy I felt for Josh is gone. I can't believe Magnus, the guy who can tell what kind of day I've had after spending thirty seconds with me, doesn't realize that Josh is in love with him. What does he need, a fucking billboard?

"You don't even know Alec. I feel different with him, Josh." There's a pause, and I can feel my heart pumping in my ears. "I feel special."

I hear Josh move, and I want to know if he's moving toward Magnus. My boyfriend.

"You are special," he whispers. "But Lightwood is bad news."

Lightwood? If they haven't talked in a month, how does he know my name?

"You can't just ignore everything in those files, Magnus. You know what happened to him. He's unstable."

"Shut up, Josh," Magnus hisses. "Keep your mouth shut about that. You don't know anything about Alec, and if you don't want this to turn into another fight, then I would suggest you forget about what you read in that file and just get to know Alec as he is."

Josh's voice is dripping with scorn. "So I guess he's told you everything then? If you know each other so well?"

"That's not fair, Josh. I'm giving him time."

"Time to what? To make you feel like this then abandon you? His mom is a freaking General, Magnus. His father is a Colonel. I bet he wants you to keep this a secret, right?"

There's a pause, and I finally get a chance to process what's going on. My whole body feels numb. A few minutes ago I was buoyant; floating with the knowledge of how Magnus feels about me. Now, I don't know what to think. I taste bile in the back of my throat, and it takes considerable effort to keep quiet.

"I can tell by your face that he's already said it. Is that what you are now, Magnus? Someone's dirty little secret? I know you probably hate me right now, but you're better than this Magnus. You're worth more than that."

"We've only been dating for a month, Josh. Don't you remember what it was like trying to tell your parents?"

"Yeah, I do Magnus. I remember it almost didn't happen, and I barely even talked to my parents to begin with. Alexander Lightwood is a soldier. He's not going to come out, not for anyone."

"I don't care," Magnus interjects. "Josh, I've never felt like this about anyone. Alec will come around, I know it." He doesn't sound so sure. I feel like I'm about to be sick.

Josh decides to take a new angle. "What about the files, Magnus? Have you forgotten the injuries? The depression? The PTSD? The guy is unstable."

When Magnus speaks again, his voice is so low and so dangerous that I feel a chill run through my body. "Josh, I know you're trying to help, but if you don't leave now, I'm going to say something I'll really regret. This is not the time to be talking about this."

"But –"

"Leave, Josh. Just go now."

I hear a low choking sound, and then, a few seconds later, the click of Magnus's door. The fridge door creaks, and I hear Magnus pouring a glass of water. I return to the opposite side of the couch, and hug my legs into my chest. All of the things I'm thinking of doing – talking, standing, moving, shouting – all seem impossible. I feel far away from everything, like Magnus's house is a black hole, and all the air and the warmth and the color that danced around me ten minutes before have been sucked away.

"Sorry about that," Magnus says when he gets back, his tone light. It's as if nothing has happened. I think about what Josh said – how Magnus doesn't know me – and realize that it's the exact opposite: I don't know Magnus. I have secrets, but there's a difference between not being ready to talk about them, and acting like there's nothing wrong. Right now it's hard to differentiate between world's best actor and world's biggest liar.

"I brought you some – Alec, what's wrong?"

He sits down and tries to take my hand, but I yank it away. The sensation of being so near him is back, and I hate my body for that.

"Alec, did you… Were you listening?" he asks. I can't tell if he's annoyed or just being defensive. In any case, the comment is just the catalyst I need.

"You weren't exactly making much of an effort to keep it down," I say, my voice flat and emotionless. Somehow, I can't keep the emotion out of my voice when I want to conceal it, but when I actually want Magnus to know that I'm hurting, I sound like a robot. "Why? Are you pissed about me invading your privacy, because that would be rich."

For once there's no witty rebuttal. Magnus doesn't know what to say. "Alec, it's not like that," he finally responds. He shoulders sag, but I repress the urge to wrap my arms around him.

"Not like what, Magnus? Not like you invaded my privacy? How did you even get that information? Information about –" my voice wavers, but I refuse to break down. "About my rehabilitation. That's private, Magnus. I can't believe you would do that to me."

"Alec, please," he says, his voice cracking. "I didn't even know you then, I'm sorry."

I scoff, and feel a mixture of vindication and pain when I see him recoil at the noise. "You can't just apologize for something like that Magnus. This isn't some stupid case you're getting paid for. That's my life you were digging into. Is that all I am to you, some kind of puzzle to be figured out?"

"If you were listening the whole time, you know that's not true. I told Josh how I feel about you, and I meant it." He reaches out to touch my hand, and I feel my blood run cold once again. He knows. The back of my throat tightens, and although I know I'm seconds away from making a complete idiot of myself, I have to ask.

"Is that why…why you won't touch me?" I whisper. "Because you know what happened?"

Magnus's eyes open in shock. "Is that what you think of me?"

Despite my greatest efforts, a tear leaks out. I try to make it look like I'm pushing my hair back. "No. I don't know. Then why? Obviously it's not because you're so innocent."

Magnus's eyes darken. "No, Alec, I'm not. I never claimed to be. But your injuries have nothing to do with it."

"Then what is it?" I spit out, relying on anger to cover the pain.

"I was just trying to do something right for one bloody time in my life," Magnus shouts, standing up. "I just wanted things with you to be different, to be better."

"Sounds like a convenient excuse to me." Knowing that I can't hold out much longer without either breaking down or hurting Magnus so badly that we'll never be able to work this out, I get up to leave.

Unfortunately, Magnus blocks the way out. "Alec, don't go," he pleads. I've never heard him sound so vulnerable before. "Just let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain Magnus. You did what you did."

Magnus steps forward, but this time he doesn't reach out. "I know, Alec. But that's just who I am – I track things down. I mean, I usually don't go that far, but you were just impossible to figure out. After the party I didn't know if I would ever see you again, and I wanted to know why you ran away from me like that. I swear, I felt sick after reading those files, and I have been trying to push them out of my mind. I wanted to let you tell me at your own pace."

"The sad thing is," I say, keeping my eyes on the floor, "is that I was ready to tell you. I haven't talked about what happened with anyone, and I was going to do it with you, and –"

"And I fucked it up," Magnus fills in. He moves out of the way. "You can go, I won't stop you."

I take a step forward, unsure myself if it's to embrace Magnus or to walk past him, when he looks up. "But Alec, I just want you to know, that after reading about what happened…Well, I think you're one in a million, and you shouldn't let anyone – even your mother – make you feel like that isn't true."

"My mother?" I ask, completely confused. "What does my mother have to do with any of this?"

"I know about the Medal of Valor," he replies, looking as if he has nothing left to lose. "I know that she's the one who made sure you never got it."

I feel the anger bubble back up to the surface. "See, Magnus, that's just it. You don't know anything. You can't learn about someone's life from a piece of paper. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know what you did," he says, setting his chin. "I know that you deserve every medal the army's got for what happened that day."

I can't stand this. Everyone – Mom, Dad, Isabelle, Dr. Baelish, and now Magnus – they all think they know what happened. The weight of everyone thinking that I'm some kind of hero when the complete opposite is true…I just can't stand it anymore. Something inside me snaps, and the words start flooding out.

"Everyone thinks they know what happened that night. You want to know the truth Magnus? Want something to write in your little notebook or tell your friend Josh so you can whisper about it in the kitchen? Well, that whole 'heroic encounter' you read about is bullshit. And my mother? I begged her to pull the plug on the medal. It was probably the hardest thing she ever had to do, but she did it for me." He doesn't respond, and I continue, my voice rising.

"That morning, when I went out to use the bathroom – I was too afraid to do it with everyone else – I scared a flock of vultures. One of them triggered the landmine, and that one triggered another, all the way down to where Jace was still asleep. I saw the tent catch on fire, and I ran to it, not realizing that we were getting fired on. While I was on my way to Jace, I barely had time to register that there were bullets everywhere. It was just instinct, to go where he was. Not bravery, just reflex. Then once I got in and got the blanket over him, I heard the sounds of everyone screaming. We were outnumbered, and the friends that I had spent three years with were getting slaughtered." I look away, focusing on the painting on the wall; using its soft colors to keep me calm. "I heard them die."

By this point, I can't stop the tears from coming, and sobs start to rack my body. Magnus is frozen in front of me, terrified, or disgusted, or both, but I push on, knowing that I need to get all of this out.

"Jace heard them, and even half-delirious with smoke inhalation and bleeding, he tried to get at his gun. He started screaming and trying to throw me off of him, but I just clamped my hand over his mouth." I take a deep breath.

"He was unconscious by the time backup showed up, and I knew that he wouldn't forgive me. We both knew that there was no chance, but Jace still wanted to fight. Even injured and outnumbered he wanted to fight. And I wanted to hide. I never even got to see him wake up. I was sent to the Center the next day."

As if the story were a physical burden that was weighing me down, my whole body feels empty when I'm done. My muscles loosen and I crumple to the floor, a mess of tears and coughing. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep the sobs from escaping, but it's no good.

I feel Magnus settle down beside me. "Alec," he says softly. "You did the right thing. You ran into a burning tent and gave your only protection to another person. You stayed there, without making a sound until help came. You are a hero Alec, and that story doesn't change that."

I want to argue. I want to make Magnus understand that he's wrong, that it is my fault and that Jace will never forgive me for what happened that day. I want to be angry at Magnus for bringing this up, for thinking that he could understand anything about what I'm going through.

But instead, I let him take me in his arms. I let him smooth my hair and kiss my tears and tell me that it's okay. I let him hold on to me while I whisper, "I loved him," over and over, even though it must be torture for him to hear that. Then, when the tears are gone, I slowly take off my sweater, and I let him run his fingers up and down my arms, let him trace the patterns of the burns. I let him lift my shirt over my head and kiss across my shoulder blades, let him tell me that I'm beautiful.

I let him press against me, skin touching skin, conjuring up a fire I didn't know could be contained within the human body, and tell me that I'm perfect. I let him be an attentive boyfriend.

I forgive him, and I realize, as his lips brush against my collarbone, my stomach, my wrist, that I was going to all along. I realize, that even when I'm livid or annoyed or broken, even when he's not touching me or winking at me or kissing me, Magnus makes me feel. But mostly, I realize that feeling again didn't always seem like an option.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: Magnus

It took the better part of three days for me to convince Alec to meet up with me somewhere that wasn't my apartment. Only after I had begged, pouted, and threatened to withhold any physical contact whatsoever did he finally acquiesce. I hadn't brought it up, but truthfully, the things that Josh had so unceremoniously dumped on me in my kitchen were having an effect. Everything he had said about being Alec's dirty little secret was slowly eating me up. I'm Magnus fucking Bane, for Christ's sake; not a slutty mistress. Not that I wouldn't play the slutty mistress…but that is completely beside the point. It's not nearly as sexy when it's real.

Even so, it's hard to stay mad at Alec; he's so pure and so good that I refuse to believe that he's enjoying the secrecy. I'm sure it's affecting him in some way. Plus, everything is so hard for him already that I can't bring myself to be the cause of any extra stress. I can still see the hollow look that was in his eyes whenever I close mine, can still feel the shuddering of his chest against my hands, and can hear his strangled sobs in every prolonged silence. I don't think I'd be able to handle being the cause of pain like that; it would do as much damage to me as it would Alec.

Not wanting to overload his fragile system, I suggested that for our first official outing as a couple, we just go to the Ridgewood Center and catch a movie. There are a dozen places I'd rather take Alec – the Park, a museum, or just for a walk down the side streets, looking for old books and funky jewelry – but all those options are too "couply". This way, Alec and I can enter the theatre separately, buy our respective tickets, and then sneak to a seat in the back where no one will notice us. Not exactly the date of anyone's dreams, but a small step in the right direction. Josh was right – I am acting like a crazy person. And the craziest part is that I wouldn't change it for anything.

For someone who obviously doesn't spend a lot of time primping, Alexander Lightwood is not very punctual. I've been sitting on a bench in front of the Ridgewood Cineplex for twenty minutes, watching hordes of people walk by, wondering for the few brief seconds that they're in my field of vision what their lives must be like. I see a few couples walking by; hands interlaced, shoulders brushing, feet moving in inexplicable tandem. I wonder if they even appreciate what that means, the closeness of it all.

I was always a slave to public displays – not even displays of affection, just displays. Kissing, touching, anything really. The more over the top, the better. Some of it stemmed from a brazen desire to flaunt my conquests, to have people know that I could have anyone I wanted. Another part was attention, I suppose; anything to turn a head. Now, I couldn't care less about attention. I look back and see those displays for what they really were: empty. Now, I'm jealous of the hand-holding. Of the arms around shoulders. Of the smiles and whispers and inside jokes. Now, I just want quiet affection, the same kind of comfort that I see on the faces around me. I want it so bad it hurts.

Lost in my thoughts, I don't realize that someone is approaching until they're sitting beside me on the bench. When I jerk my head up, I'm face to face with an extremely attractive man.

"Hey," he says, a dimpled smile lighting up his face. "You looked a little down, and I thought you might need someone to talk to."

If this encounter had taken place a month ago, I know what my reaction would have been: flirty smile, suggestive reply, fleeting touch. We would have walked away together, to the nearest bathroom, to the parking garage, to a car maybe. I would have fucked him – they never fucked me – and then left. I would have appreciated, in the buildup and even into the heat of the moment, his wiry frame, his dimples, and his slightly crooked teeth. I would have enjoyed touching the muscles of his arms and tasting the watermelon flavored gum he's chewing. But now, all I see are flaws: how he falls short of the person I want on this bench. His hair is two shades too light, his forehead just a little too prominent. His eyes are storm clouds when they should be a clear sky.

"I'm flattered," I reply. "But I'm just waiting for someone."

As soon as he leaves he's forgotten. The number he insisted on giving me sits in my palm, and when I reach over to dump it in the trash, it's snatched away.

"Did that guy just gives you this?" His voice is soft, almost too low to hear, but I recognize the ripple of hurt.

"He did," I reply, stealing the piece of paper back and throwing it away. "Even though I told him it wouldn't do him any good."

The lines in Alec's face smooth out, his eyes brighten, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Jealous?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Alec flushes, but the small, nervous smile doesn't disappear. I love all of Alec's smiles, but that particular gesture embodies his personality so well – shy, sweet, self-deprecating, and a little insecure – that it never fails to send a warm current through my chest.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he says. "Izzy made me change before I left."

I notice that there's no baggy sweater hanging from his frame, and I can't stop a small laugh. The sweaters, like so many of his other quirks, are adorable, but I'm definitely thankful whenever Isabelle forces Alec into something a little more fitting. It makes it a little less easy to concentrate, but it's definitely worth it.

I smile and have to hook my fingers into the loops of my jeans to keep them from reaching out toward him. "Don't worry about it. Should we go get our tickets?"

Alec glances toward the box office for a second before shaking his head. "I was thinking," he says, "that maybe we could just hang out here for a while. You know, shop or something?"

"Shop?" I repeat, more than a little skeptical.

"Well, you know," Alec mumbles, diverting his attention to the opposite side of the mall. "You can shop and I can keep you company. I only get to spend a couple of hours with you, and I'd rather be able to actually be with you." I can see the flush creeping up the back of his neck, and can barely keep myself from squealing.

"I can deal with some shopping company," I reply, resisting the urge to gloat.

Alec sighs, and with the exhalation his body relaxes a little. Content to let me wander wherever I want, he falls into step beside me. Before we round the corner, I turn back to look at the bench, only to see a young girl – probably no more than sixteen or seventeen – watching us walk away. I wonder what kind of story she's thinking up for us, how it all unfolds.

Alec is actually not a bad shopping partner. Though he has no sense of style himself, I can tell by his posture, the way his eyes light up, and the faint color that creeps across his cheekbones, how much he likes whatever I'm trying on. Every time he grabs something off the rack for me he lets his fingers linger just a second too long, and the sensation dances across my skin for minutes afterward. He also develops the most curious eyebrow twitch whenever any of the cute salesmen attempt to help me. For his sake I brush them off quickly, but the selfish part of me wants to keep them around as an added incentive for him publicly admit that I'm his.

Ever the gentleman, he carries my bags in one hand, while keeping the other free and ready to rub up against mine whenever we get lost in a crowd. Truthfully, the rush of excitement I get during those stolen seconds makes me rethink the secret relationship angle. I'm lost in an elaborate daydream about secret love affairs when the gentle cadence of the shopping bags thumping against Alec's legs comes to an abrupt halt. When I turn to ask him what's wrong, there's a look of pure panic in his eyes and his face has been leeched of any color; he looks much like he did that first night at my party.

Worried that he might be having some sort of attack, I reach out to touch his shoulder, only to be glared at with such ferocity that I take a couple of steps back. Snapping to attention at my sudden movement, Alec thrusts my bags toward me without any explanation, and then backs away as if I'm some sort of rabid animal.

Before I can ask him what the hell is going on, a portly middle-aged man is lumbering toward us, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Alexander," he croaks out, slapping a beefy hand onto one of Alec's shoulders. "Good to see you out and about, my boy."

Alec still looks shaken, but his smile is genuine. "Colonel Roberts, it's good to see you again."

When the Colonel draws away his eyes stray from Alec over to me. I can see the derision on his face as he takes in my clothes and my hair. I refuse to cower under his scrutiny, however; I gave up caring what people like him thought a long time ago.

"Friend of yours?" he asks Alec, his prodigious eyebrows knitting together.

Alec seems frozen, and my heart speeds up a little while waiting for his answer.

"Uh, this is Magnus," he spits out, his words jumbling over one another. "One of Isabelle's fashion friends. I needed help finding a birthday present, and well, I'm not very good at that sort of thing."

As opposed to me, the big flaming fag – which is essentially what Alec is saying, just in not so many words. Though I knew he wasn't very well going to admit that I was his boyfriend, I thought at the very least I could be introduced as his friend – not some shoe-in gay consultant.

A booming laugh escapes from deep in Roberts' gut, and he shakes his head at Alec. "Well of course not, no real man is."

And what am I? A fucking turtle? Before the acid-burn of betrayal can creep its way up from my stomach to my throat I excuse myself from the conversation. Alec just looks on, seeming as helpless as a kitten, and I'm torn between the urge to grab his hand and kick him in the balls. Since a good kick in the balls is winning, I walk away as quickly as I can, putting every ounce of strength I have into keeping the bile and the tiny, prickling tears away. I don't get a goodbye from either of them.

As I hurry away, I'm overwhelmed by shame. I hate that Alec has this hold on me, that I can be reduced to tears by his actions. I hate that Josh was right, that Alec has no intention of ever telling anyone about us. But what I hate most is that I just want to turn around and find him running after me.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Alec

Figures that the first time I get a chance to prove to myself that I'm not a coward, I fail with astounding form. I could tell that Magnus wasn't thrilled about spending our day out in the back of a dingy movie theatre, and all I wanted was to make him happy. Instead, I manage to make him seem like an annoyance and stand idly by while he's practically gay bashed. Josh was right – I'm a snake, and Magnus deserves better.

Shame like I have never known before courses through my body as I see the hurt in Magnus's eyes. Instead of lashing out, or defending himself, or challenging me, he proves his moral fiber by simply walking away. Though he tries to hide it, I can see that he's seconds away from breaking down, and I know, more than I've ever known anything, that I'm not good enough for him. His grace and courage are proof enough of that fact. I should probably let him walk away – he'd be much better off without me – but I'm not strong enough to resist his pull. As I watch him turn the corner and disappear from my line of vision, my shame transforms into panic. I know that if I don't go after him, I'll be giving up any chance of him ever forgiving me. And that's not something I'm prepared to deal with.

Roberts is watching me watch Magnus, but I can't bring myself to care. With the admixture of feelings churning around in my stomach, there's no room left for my paranoia.

"Well, they sure do get riled up over nothing," he chortles, trying to break the silence that settled with Magnus's departure. "Worse than bloody women."

I know that I should be angrier at myself than Roberts, but his comment trips something in me – a fuse that was primed to be set off. "He's a person, you know," I spit. "He's not some nameless stereotype. His name is Magnus and I'm very sorry, but I have to go find him and apologize for your rudeness."

I ignore the indignant spluttering behind me, and try to convince myself that Roberts will be too ashamed of his own behavior to report this to my parents. Unlikely. The gravity of what I've done makes me a little dizzy: not only did I chastise a superior, I basically admitted that I have a personal connection to a gay man. All my mother will need is five minutes in a locked room with me, and she'll know. She always knows. Even so, right now the threat of discovery pales in comparison to my need to find Magnus and make this right. Pushing my leg to its limits, I jog through the crowded hallways, making my way toward the front entrance, praying to whatever higher power might be out there that I can get to Magnus before he drives right out of my life.

It's raining when I burst out of Ridgewood's front entrance. Not the light, romantic kind of rain that patters against your roof and lulls you to sleep, but sheets of water that form huge puddles in the dents of the sidewalk and drench my clothes within seconds. I can barely see for the water attacking my face, but somehow my gaze is drawn directly to Magnus. The bright yellow cab, the multi-colored shopping bags, the cars racing down the street, they all swirl together is an unfocused blur with Magnus, clear and radiant in the foreground.

I'm afraid that he won't hear me over the sound of the deluge, but I yell as loudly as I can before he disappears into the cab.

"Magnus! Magnus, wait!"

His head snaps back, and I don't know what makes me more upset: the fact that he looks so surprised that I'm in front of him or that he turns his head away and proceeds to shove his bags in the car.

Unwilling to give up that easily, I ignore the dull throb in my leg and try to sprint the last twenty feet to his side. Unfortunately, the sidewalk is slick with water, and I go crashing down in a pile of limbs, thoroughly soaking any part of my body that had managed to remain dry. My palms sting and I'm sure that I've twisted my ankle, but pure adrenaline has me back up in a flash. Magnus's face is now contorted with concern, and I use that feeling to my advantage, closing the space between us before he can come to his senses.

"Magnus don't go," I plead, my voice weak with relief. I reach out to take his hand but he pulls it away.

"Sure you want to be seen touching a faggot?" he hisses, his green eyes dark.

The word makes me sick –hearing it from his mouth makes my skin crawl. "Don't say that Magnus."

"Say what? Faggot?" The word slithers from his lips like a curse, headed straight for my heart. "Why not? That's what you think I am – what you are."

I just shake my head, glad that the rain can hide my tears. "No," I whisper. I don't even know if Magnus hears me.

"Do you prefer queer? Fairy? Princess?" The sneer combined with the hateful language is too much – I start to shake.

"Magnus, stop!" I scream. I have the urge to put my hands over my ears like a child and hum his words away, but instead I reach around him and pull his bags out of the cab. I toss a twenty dollar bill at the cabbie and tell him to get lost.

Magnus is seething. His shoulders are quivering, and his breath is coming in short bursts. "You can't force me to talk to you, Alec," he says. "I'll just flag down another one." Magnus's makeup has started to run a little, and I wonder if the rain is hiding tears for him as well. With his flat hair and sodden clothes, it's easy to look past the anger and see what it's hiding: pain. Pain that was caused by me. Beautiful, vibrant Magnus looks dull and lost, because of me. The thought makes me ill.

I know it's low and unfair, but I need to convince Magnus to stay. "Magnus, just give me a chance to explain…I did the same for you."

Magnus's eyes widen, and I feel immediately guilty for the spasm of pain that flashes across his face. He crosses his arms and looks away. "That's completely unfair."

I'm starting to shiver from the cold and it's hard to talk while swallowing mouthfuls of water, so I grab Magnus's hand and haul him into an unoccupied bus shelter. I drop his bags on the bench and take his other hand as well. "Magnus," I say, forcing him to look at me. "I know that it's not fair, but just let me explain."

Magnus stays quiet, and I take that as a sign to continue.

Now that he's listening, I feel sick with anxiety. With my record, I'll probably screw things up even worse as soon as I open my mouth. Still, I have to try. I suck in as much air as I can, and look directly at Magnus, using the pain in his eyes to give me the courage I need to go on.

"Okay, I'm not good with this stuff. With words and feelings and expressing myself." The combination of nerves and the chill of the rain has my shoulders shaking, but I try to keep my hands and my voice as steady as possible. "First, I'm sorry for not stopping Roberts. He's great friends with my parents and as soon as I saw him in there I just froze. It's like part of my brain could hear what he was saying, but there was this other stupid part that wouldn't let me move."

Magnus decides to speak up. "Josh was right, you're ashamed of me," he whispers.

"NO." My face is reflected in Magnus's eyes and it looks wild and desperate. "Never think that Magnus. I'm not ashamed of you. If anything, I'm just not good enough for you."

"Self-deprecation won't get you anywhere with this Alec. You can't guilt me into forgiving you."

I bit my lip to keep from crying out. I knew this would happen – I have no idea how to deal with things like this. "Magnus, it's true," I insist, squeezing his hands. "I could never be ashamed of you – you're the most perfect person I've ever met. You can't even understand how much better everything has become since I met you."

Magnus starts reply, but I cut him off.

"I lied to you about why I was late today. My parents called to tell me about an assignment. There's a special intelligence division of the forces that's considering my application. Fighting for my country is the only thing I ever wanted to do – you don't know what it felt like to have that ripped away. And today, I just felt like Roberts showing up was some kind of sick cosmic joke. Like I was being torn away from my dream all over again."

"So what you're saying is that you'll never be able to tell anyone about me?" Magnus's voice is low now, his pain undiluted.

"No, Magnus. God!" I rip my hands out of his and run them through my hair. "That's not what I meant. I don't know what I think. All I know is that when I'm around you, everything else falls away. You're all I can see, all I can feel. I know that what I feel for you is pure and perfect and I don't want to fuck it up, but I just can't turn my back on everything that I believe in…everything I stand for. I know this is fucked up, and I'm sure that you deserve better, but if you just give me a chance, I will try my best to be better, for you."

"Alec, you idiot," Magnus says. "I don't want you to be better. I just want you to want me."

"Want you?" I force out. "Magnus, I want you more than I've ever wanted anything." And it's true – the love I had for Jace was secret and tortured and twisted; something I tried to force away. What I feel for Magnus is bright and burning; something I'm happy to embrace. Just looking at him is enough to banish the chill of the rain. The way his t-shirt is clinging to his stomach, the soft curve of his hip bones showing above his jeans, that fucking tattoo peeking out – everything about him is hypnotizing. Knowing that I can't possibly put any of that into words, I do the only thing I can think of: throw myself at him.

I push him up against the clear glass of the shelter and twist his wet hair in my hands. Our wet bodies press together, and I run my fingers along his biceps, tracing a pattern through the raindrops. Our lips slip together, wet and hot, and I swear the heat generated could dry us both. His tongue tangles into mine, and my knees go weak. My hands seek out his warmth, and I trace the muscles of his back, digging in as he moans. He moves his mouth to my neck, and the sensation of water and tongue and teeth is almost too much to handle. "I don't know how you could ever think I didn't want you," I gasp.

I crush his body against me, and notice that he's shaking slightly. I push him back gently and cup his face with my hands. "I've never wanted anything more," I promise, leaning in to press my lips against his softly. "Now can we please go home?"

When we finally get into the apartment, Magnus just drops his bags in a heap and wraps his arms around my neck once again. He kicks the door shut with his foot and guides me toward his bedroom. I haven't been in there since the night of the party, and the thought of being back on his bed makes my heart race.

Items of clothing drop as we make our way down the hall. My coat, waterlogged and weighing at least ten pounds, falls to the floor with a loud squelching noise. Once that's gone, and I have better control over my arms, I make quick work of Magnus's t-shirt. The sight of him, bronze and toned and dripping with water, elicits a groan of desire that Magnus doesn't fail to notice. He breaks away to give me a wicked grin, and guides my hands down his body, shivering at the contact. I wonder for a second if he can possibly feel the same fire I do, but the jolt of insecurity passes as he peels away my wet shirt. It joins my jacket on the floor.

The cold air of the apartment makes me shiver, and Magnus hauls me into his bedroom quickly. We tumble against the bed, and the feeling of his wet skin on mine is like heaven. He takes in my bare chest and his gaze is reverent – I feel silly for ever believing that I would repulse him. As always, he lowers his lips to my arms, kissing his way up the twisted scar tissue. It's at once completely erotic and stunningly intimate. I sink further into the bed, wishing that I could stay here, wrapped up in Magnus forever.

The only problem is the water. Our pants are drenched, and at this rate Magnus's bed will be soaked within minutes. As his lips make their way across my collarbone and up my jaw, I lean forward, whispering into his ear. "Baby, your bed is getting drenched."

Magnus shivers at the endearment, and I swear I can feel his neck heating up under my hands. "Don't worry about it," he says between kisses. "Don't worry about anything."

He licks his way up to my earlobe, and I make some sort of strangled noise that merits his approval. Drawing on every ounce of courage I have, I lean into his ear again.

"The wet pants are kind of uncomfortable, don't you think?"

Magnus abruptly stops kissing. He looks at me with a contained excitement, wanting to make sure that he hasn't misheard. "Do you mean…"

I nod my head and move my hands down his hips, relishing the smoothness of his skin. Rejoicing in the way his body reacts to such a simple touch. For the first time, my hands don't stop at his jeans. Instead, I keep going, unzipping and pulling with trembling fingers. It's not exactly smooth going, but Magnus doesn't seem to mind. As soon as he's kicked them completely off, he lowers his head to my stomach, kissing along the ridges of my abs, dragging his tongue down to my waistband. His own movements are much quicker than mine – three seconds and my pants are undone and tossed, and then there are only two very thin layers of material separating us.

As if he can sense my trepidation, Magnus pulls his comforter forward, enveloping our bodies in the soft, fleecy material. For a few seconds we just lay there, his light frame perched on top of mine, my whole body singing with desire. I don't feel nearly as anxious as I thought – the intimacy feels natural, like being cocooned in Magnus's bed is exactly what I need.

Magnus runs his fingers up and down my sides, enjoying making me shiver. Once my breathing evens out, he leans in to kiss me – slowly but firmly, wrapping his arms around my head. I run my hands down his back and over his perfect ass, sighing into his mouth as I do so.

When my hands make their way back to Magnus's shoulders, he slides off my body and leans against my side. He doesn't break the kiss, but one of his hands runs down my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my boxers. He hesitates for a moment, but when I make no objections, he slides his hand underneath, and before I can even fathom what's happening his hand is around me. I gasp his name and buck my body forward, too caught up in the sensation to feel insecure about my actions.

His hand is smooth but steady and though it makes no logical sense, it feels a million times better than my own. Within seconds I'm whimpering, and when he pulls his hand away, I have to resist the urge to shove it right back down. He cuts off my protests with a quick kiss and then sidles down the bed, only his head poking out from beneath the blankets. His breath is hot on my skin and I wonder dazedly how one person can have such an overwhelming effect on another.

Gauging my reaction once more, he hooks his thumbs under my boxers and gives them a tentative tug. I lift my hips from the bed, allowing him to pull them down the rest of the way, and fight the urge to blush once I'm completely naked. Magnus places a chaste kiss to my stomach and smiles sweetly. "You're perfect," he murmurs. I'm seriously worried that I might blow my load right then.

Miraculously, that doesn't happen. As Magnus slowly kisses his way downward my hands curl into the sheets, grasping for some sort of anchor. Something to keep me from losing control. I groan as he traces patterns across my hipbones, and just when I think that I can't take any more, his head lifts for a second, only to descend around my cock. The action is such a shock to my system that my muscles clench instantaneously and his name escapes my lips in a loud groan. He's obviously prepared for this reaction, because it doesn't faze him in the least. His tongue, which I already worshiped, swirls and licks like some divine instrument. His name becomes a prayer, and I plead for him not to stop. His mouth, hot and wet, tightens, and the sight of his head bobbing beneath the comforter is the single most erotic thing I have ever seen. All conscious thought is lost, swallowed up in blissful oblivion. Like a twelve year old, my brain manages to process "holy shit, Magnus is sucking me off," but the higher function stops there.

When I feel my cock hit the back of Magnus's throat, I know I can't last much longer. I try to tell him that, but my weak warnings only invigorate him. He bobs quicker, pumps harder, and swallows around me, bringing me to the edge in the most exquisite way possible. My whole body is consumed by Magnus, and when I finally release, it's like nothing I've ever experienced. I can't think, can't move, can't do anything but lay there, dazed, only vaguely aware that Magnus hasn't moved. That his mouth is still wrapped around me.

When I'm finished, Magnus pulls my boxers back up around my hips and cuddles into me. He seems to understand my complete inability to communicate, and just kisses the hollow above my collarbone.

"That was…" I begin, but I can't come up with a word to describe what it was, exactly.

He just smiles and drapes his leg across mine. "I'm glad," he whispers.

"I don't think I can move," I admit, hoping he doesn't mind.

He props himself up on his elbow so that we're facing each other. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he says softly. His nose crinkles a little, betraying the fact that he's nervous. "You could sleep here."

I use what's left of my strength to move forward and kiss the tip of his nose. "I bet you say that to all your boyfriends," I tease, remembering our first date.

"I've never had a boyfriend before," he whispers. "And if you say yes, you would be the first person to ever sleep over."

That confession brings my body back to life, sweeping over me like a wave of light. "I say yes," I murmur into Magnus's skin, pressing my lips against his once more. He reaches above me and flicks a switch, extinguishing the light. Though it can't be any later than 9:00, I'm completely spent. I let Magnus nuzzle into my neck and I wrap my arms around his thin frame. I can't think of anything that would make me happier than falling asleep to the gentle cadence of his breath.

It's nearly one o'clock when my phone starts buzzing, and I grab it before the noise can wake Magnus. The light almost kills my eyes in the darkness, but I'm glad that I didn't ignore the text. At first I hope it's some kind of joke, but I know that Izzy would never be that cruel.

Isabelle: Alec, you need to get home now. Mom and Dad just called for the car to come pick them up, they're at the airport.

I slide out of bed as quietly as possible, my heart aching at the thought of leaving Magnus alone for the night. I scramble around his room for a piece of paper; I refuse to leave after that with no explanation. I find a bright pink pen and a green post-it and scribble a hasty note.

Then, before I leave, I lean in and brush my lips against Magnus's forehead. He looks so peaceful and so beautiful that I can't resist snapping a picture. Luckily, the flash just makes him flip over. My heart clenches at the thought of leaving, but I have no choice. I can only hope that Magnus realizes how much I wish I could be there in the morning. I pray that he understands.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the lovely messages and reviews :) A few additional disclaimers: the poem is the property of E.A. Poe (A Dream within a Dream) and Veronica Mars is probably the most fantastic show ever created (compliments of Rob Thomas).

Chapter Sixteen: Magnus

I wake up shivering. There are no traces of warmth, no rumpled sheets, no flattened pillow. Beside me, the bed is empty, and for one terrifying minute I think that I dreamt it all – the apology, pleasuring Alec, falling asleep in his arms. The terror feels like an asthma attack, like my lungs can't possibly get enough air. I sit up, drawing my knees to my chest, and spot a green post-it on my door.

Heart pounding, I slide out of bed and dart across the cold floor to retrieve the note. Cursing the autumn chill I dive back into bed, fingers shaking slightly as I read the message. Alec writes in perfect cursive; full, swooping letters that look like they could be on wedding stationary. At the top of the note there's a quote:

Take this kiss upon the brow!  
And, in parting from you now,  
Thus much let me avow-  
You are not wrong, who deem  
That my days have been a dream

and scribbled underneath is an explanation: Izzy needed me. Leaving was harder than you'll ever know. Call me when you wake up. – Alec.

I run my fingers across my face, wondering if he kissed me goodbye. The thought of Alec's lips brushing against my forehead, his sweet voice murmuring in my ear, is surreal. Something from a dream.

Smiling like a buffoon, I grab my phone from the night table and hastily punch in Alec's number. My body hums along with the rings.

"Hello?" Alec answers.

"I got your note," I say. "I'm so cold from having to run across the floor to get it…if only there was a sexy young man who was willing to help warm me up."

"Magnus," Alec breathes, my name sounding like poetry on his lips. "You called. I was afraid you might not."

"Of course I did. Is everything okay?"

There's a slight pause, and when Alec answers his voice is heavy. "My parents are here. They got home less than five minutes after I did." He stops again, and my heart gives a nervous flutter. What does this mean? Will Alec still want to see me if his parents are back?

"How long are they home?" I ask, erring on the side of caution.

"Less than a week. They're flying out on Friday evening."

Six days. I can handle six days, no problem.

"Magnus?" Alec sounds worried.

"Sorry! No, that's great, getting to see your parents. I have a lot of work to do anyway, so it's good that I can get it all done while you're busy."

"Okay, good." His relief is obvious, and I can't help but smile despite the bad news. "And…Magnus?"

"Yes, sweetness?"

"I miss you." Oh God, six days is definitely going to be a problem.

"I'm having party on Friday night," I answer, trying not to let Alec know that I'm about to melt into a gloopy puddle of liquid Bane. I have to maintain some measure of decorum. "Will you be there?"

"Of course," he answers. "And this time I'll see if I can stay for the whole thing."

We laugh together for a few seconds before I hear Isabelle whispering in the background. We say goodbye, and Alec promises to call again when he gets the chance.

When he's gone, I snuggle back into the blankets, pulling them over my head, trying to immerse myself in whatever's leftover from Alec's short stay. It's hard to believe that this shy, sweet boy has so completely taken over my thoughts. Just over a month ago I couldn't stand to have a man in my bed for any more time than it took for me to get off. Now I'm rolling around, trying to recapture the feeling of having a warm body pressed against mine. Complete insanity.

Quickly, thoughts of Alec pressed against me lead to thoughts of him whispering in my ear, nervously trying his hand at seduction. And although I haven't been tempted for a second to even look at anyone who isn't Alec, those thoughts have my body wondering what the fuck has been going on for the past month. Why I've been so negligent.

Which leads to the task at hand: a really, really long shower.

It's been such a long time since I've had a free Saturday night, that I'm not really sure what to do with it. Pandemonium is out – being there without Alec to rub up against completely defeats the purpose. What I should do is call Josh; my Alec-free week is the perfect time to hash out all our issues and convince him to give my boyfriend a chance. But what I want to do is absolutely nothing. Take a Magnus day.

I turn up the heat in the apartment, grab a mug of hot chocolate, a blanket, and my laptop and sink into the sofa, prepared to spend the day watching episodes of Veronica Mars. Josh makes fun of me for my obsession, but I don't really care. Veronica is a complete badass.

Unfortunately, the universe seems to have other plans. As soon as I lift the mug to my lips, the buzzer sounds, and I nearly spill the contents all over myself. As is happens, I only manage to scald my tongue. Cursing, I get up from the couch, ready to pour the remainder of the hot chocolate out the window onto my visitor's head.

"You had better have an excellent reason for being here," I say into the buzzer, expecting some insufferable cookie-selling child.

No such luck. The answer that comes back is a low, throaty French. Camille Belcourt. "C'est moi, Magnus. Ouvrez la porte."

"And why would I do that?" I scoff. "I don't think my cat could handle a rat your size."

Camille switches to English. It's just as well, since the blonde viper has forever poisoned any love I had for the language of romance. "Open the door, Bane, or my next stop will be the Upper East Side. I hear General Lightwood is back in town."

At first, her words don't register as strange. Of course Alec's mother is back in town – that's why he's not here. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that Camille shouldn't know that that information has anything to do with me. I buzz her in quickly and try to keep from panicking. I want to throw up or scream or push her down the stairs, but I need to stay calm. Deep breaths, serene thoughts. Whatever Camille wants – and it can't be good – will require a cool head.

Knowing that shaking legs are definitely not the best demonstration of indifference, I settle back down on the sofa. Every click of Camille's stilettos reverberates through my apartment, setting my nerves on edge. A thousand thoughts are shooting through my head, each one bringing on a fresh wave of nausea. How does Camille know about Alec? What does she want from me? Is she going to tell Alec's parents? Will they believe her? Will Alec leave me?

My plan of staying seated is foiled when I hear Camille's sharp knock – I forgot to unlock the door. Running a hand through my still-wet hair, I walk over and let her in.

"Camille," I drag out, turning up my nose in distaste. "What a pleasure."

"I'd be a little more polite if I were you," she counters, walking through the door as if she owns the apartment.

I follow her into the kitchen, taking a seat next to her at the island. There's a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes as she takes in my appearance, and for a second I think she can hear my heart beating. It wouldn't surprise me if she could – if she had some sort of demonic power. I've never met someone more conniving or malicious. A failed actress, Camille played the Bond Girl in the latest installation of the series before Hollywood decided that they had no room for a French woman, no matter how beautiful. Camille packed up and moved to New York, where she had just enough contacts and was just persuasive enough to be a royal annoyance. While she prefers extortion and bribery to actually doing any work, she manages to get enough clients – and rich boyfriends – to sustain her lifestyle.

"So what you do want, Camille? I'm rather enjoying my day off, you see."

She just smirks and reaches into her bag. "I'm keeping a tally Magnus. For every time you hurt my feelings today, the price of my silence doubles." She pulls out a stack of photos and lays them out in order, each frame adding a little to the story of what happened in the bus shelter last night. Photos of Alec's hands all over my body, of his head thrown back in ecstasy, of my mouth all over his neck. There's no mistaking who's in the photos. My stomach rolls over, and Camille practically smells my distress. She's like a wolverine; fear just makes her hungrier.

"Those don't prove anything," I manage to choke out. "Fancy photoshopping won't fool anyone."

Camille laughs – a low, cruel sound – and goose bumps prickle the back of my neck. "I knew you'd say something like that, Maggie." Her words sound like they could slice through my skin. I wish they would – maybe the pain would wake me up from this twisted nightmare. "You could probably even get your little sidekick to find two pictures that look exactly like this and prove that I was lying. No matter. While I think that these pictures would be enough to ruin Alexander Lightwood's career, I bet a little video footage would be even better."

"You're a liar," I hiss, fighting to control my panic. "There's no way that you taped us."

"I'll let you decide if I'm lying," she smirks. "And Magnus? Desperation looks delicious on you, but vulnerability is even better." She leans in toward me, and with a falsely high voice pleads, "Oh Alec, I only want you to want me."

"You bitch!" I snarl, flinging her away and getting up from the chair. "My personal life is none of your business."

"Au contraire, mon cher, it is very much my business. Can I remind you of a little thing I'd like to call the Fischer account?"

First pictures of Alec, and now Camille knows about the Fischer case. The only files I have are on my laptop, which Josh configured himself. Without his help, there's no way Camille could get to it, and I refuse to believe that he would ever do something like that to me. "Can you just get to the point, Camille?"

She reaches out and strokes my cheek. Never has the urge to slap her smug face been so overwhelming. "Well, Tyson Fischer, the man you're trying to frame –"

"I'm not 'trying to frame' him," I interrupt. "He's a criminal. He deserves to be exposed."

"Details," Camille says with a wave of her hand. "The point is, because you couldn't keep your snotty little nose out of Mr. Fischer's business, he had me find a way to…How did he put it? Help you see things a little clearer."

"And you think you can do that with pictures of Alec? "

She shrugs; an elegant rolling of her shoulders that is unnaturally graceful. "Maybe, maybe not. In any case, since we're such great friends, I'm going to offer you a deal first: drop the case against Fischer."

"Done," I interrupt. "It's done. My client can find another way to expose Fischer. Just give me the video and the pictures and I'll destroy them myself."

Another deep laugh echoes through my apartment. "Oh I'm sure you would love that, wouldn't you?" she purrs. "But after the little show last night, I've realized that these pictures aren't just worth something to Mr. Fischer – they're worth something to me as well."

"What do you want Camille?"

Knowing that she can have whatever she wants makes Camille radiant; she never looks more beautiful or more alive than when she's watching another person suffer.

"I should say that 105 million dollars should do it."

I didn't think it was possible, but her answer actually makes me laugh. "Okay, I don't know what kind of business you think I'm running, but I definitely do not have a hundred million dollars lying around."

"No," she agrees. "But I never said that it had to be cash."

I have no idea what Camille is talking about, so I just raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to fill me in.

"The painting," she says simply, drumming her blood red nails on the surface of the island. "I want the painting, Magnus."

I feel as though the air has been sucked out of the room. That painting is the one thing I have that connects me to my mother. Of course, Camille doesn't know that, but for people like her, greed, not love, is the most powerful motivator. "I – " I try to say something – anything – but the witch has actually managed to stun me.

"It's okay," she says. "As a professional courtesy, I'll give you a week to have the papers drawn up. You can include destruction of the photos and video of Alexander Lightwood in the contract." She leans forward and kisses my cheek. "A plus tard, Chéri."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen: Alec 

Even the weeks I spent in the Center, bruised and broken in all senses of the word, did not pass as slowly as my parents' visit. While both of them had business to attend to, they never seemed to have it at the same time, meaning that I was on parent duty for every waking hour. Izzy, being far craftier than me, obviously had set up shoots so that her doses of family time were somewhat staggered. Despite my hatred of crowds, absolutely abysmal fashion sense, and a limp, I would have gladly started a career as a model if it meant getting away from my parents and their questions. They never ran out of methods of interrogation, and with every vague answer and changed topic, I could hear Magnus's voice echoing through my head."How do I spend my time? Uh, a lot of walking, and I've joined a gym." You're ashamed of me. "Yes, I've tried dating; Isabelle introduced me to one of her friends." You're ashamed of me. "Her name? Mag-Maggie." You're ashamed of me. I barely had enough time to call Magnus, and when I did, I was so eaten up with shame and guilt that I was even less fun than usual. His delight at hearing from me just made it worse – I should have been introducing him to my parents, not locking myself in the bathroom to have a hushed three-minute telephone conversation.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't bring the subject up to my parents. They kept talking about my quick recovery, which friends they had been in contact with, and how enthusiastic they knew I was, and I just couldn't do it. I just sat there, silent and numb, wondering how something as simple as love and duty had become so complicated. Wondering why millions of people in the world managed to have both, but I had to choose.

By the time I see my parents off at the airport and get home to change, I'm already late for Magnus's party. And this time I don't even have Isabelle as a buffer, since she has some kind of work party that's essential for "making connections". I don't really understand how you can abandon your only sibling in the name of connections, but she wouldn't budge. However, she did lay out clothes that she claimed would make me look like "less like a dumpster-diver", so I guess all my pleading made her at least a little guilty.

When I climb out of the cab in front of Magnus's house, there's a small group gathered at the front entrance. Not for the first time, I wonder how Magnus manages to pull off these raves without any complaints from neighbors. Magic, I guess. Magic in the form of copious Bane charm. I can't imagine anyone who could say no to him. Thankfully, I have a key tucked away in my pocket, and can avoid having to talk to anyone.

When I get to the door I set my shoulders, take a deep breath, and tell myself that I'm going to be okay. I'll just have a drink, find Magnus, and take as many trips to his bedroom as I need.

If only it were that simple. The music is like a solid force as I enter the flat; something that can be felt as much as heard, and I almost wish that I had brought some earplugs. I scan the room for any sign of Magnus, but he doesn't stand out amongst the throng of scantily-clad dancers. I debate texting him, but his phone is probably tucked away in his room. I'll have to power through the mass of bodies to find him.

Before I can start the impossible venture, a hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me to the side. Josh. He looks more like the first time I met him: spiked hair, tinted purple this time; tight jeans slung low on his hips; black eyeliner accentuating his pale eyes. He doesn't let go of my arm until we're in a relatively secluded corner of the room. There are two chairs, almost as if this meeting was planned. He sits down in one and gestures to the other.

I scan the room once more for Magnus, but I still can't see him. Great. I get to start off the party by having a little chat with a guy who hates me, thinks I'm a nut job, and wants to steal my boyfriend. If this is a forecast for what the night's going to be like, I should probably just leave now. The only comfort I can find in this situation is that Josh looks as acutely uncomfortable as I do.

Knowing that Josh means a lot to Magnus makes me want to at least hear him out. So I take the seat next to him and meet his eyes.

"Alec," he says slowly, as if testing my name on his tongue. "I wanted to apologize for how I acted at Magnus's apartment." His face is flushed, and his body is hunched over, as if expecting a blow. It's a look I know well, and elicits a trickle of empathy. When I don't say anything, he continues. "I'm not just saying this because Magnus was pissed at me, either. I really do mean it." Another tentative glance and I can feel my anger dissipating. Josh's mannerisms are so familiar; it's as if we both have some cosmic puppeteer maneuvering us in the same way. Imagining how I would have felt if I had to stand idly by and watch Jace throw himself all over some nameless girl helps with the forgiveness as well.

"Forget about it," I reply, trying my best at a smile. "You were just trying to look out for your best friend."

Josh scoffs. "We both know that that's not the only reason I was such a jerk." He looks so sad that any jealousy is immediately transformed to pity.

"Is Magnus the only one who doesn't know?" I ask.

"Pretty much. I don't know if he's just built up some kind of mental barrier or if the thought of me as an actual sexual being is so ridiculous to him that even if I showed up in his bed with nothing but a thong and a can of whipped cream he would still think that I just wanted to hang out, but he doesn't suspect a thing. I'm like his little brother."

Even though the thought of Josh showing up in Magnus's bed for anything makes me want to reach over and crush his delicate little windpipe, I just shift a little in my chair. "It's cool, really. We can forget it ever happened."

But Josh doesn't seem to get the message. He just turns his wide eyes back at me and keeps talking. "It's just that Magnus is my best friend, you know. He's the only friend I had for a long time. I met him for the first time when I was twelve. He was fifteen and probably the most popular kid at school, even though everyone knew that he was gay. There are just some people that gossip, or bullies, or hate can't touch, and Magnus was definitely one of those people. He didn't really have a clique or anything, though. He just stood apart – something other. Something that most people didn't fully understand, but wanted to be close to. Anyway, the opposite could have been said for me. I was small, dorky, and painfully awkward. I could do integral calculus but I couldn't even manage half a push-up, and in the jungle that is junior high, that made me the equivalent of an injured gazelle.

Anyway, this one day a bunch of kids cornered me at the back of the school. They never tried anything physical beyond a few pushes and shoves – my dad was the District Attorney – but they didn't really need any ammunition past their words. They called me everything: a freak, a weirdo, a fag, basically whatever their twisted little minds could come up with. By the time I was ready to break down and cry, someone shoved their way through the crowd that had gathered to stand beside me. First I shied away, thinking that it was someone who finally had the idea to beat the pulp out of me, but when I got the courage to look up I saw Magnus. Like some kind of sparkly knight in shining armor. He grabbed my hand and everything went silent. Then he leaned down, and in front of everyone, he kissed me. No one knew what to do, least of all me, but Magnus had an earful for my tormenters. After that, we were inseparable. Magnus never tried to kiss me or anything like that again, but I didn't care. I was completely in love. When I graduated, I had offers to study at CalTech, MIT, and Harvard, but I decided on Columbia. I had huge offers to do my PhD at schools all over the country, but still I stayed here, studying and helping Magnus with whatever he needed. And I watched him go through guy after guy after guy, and it hurt, but I still knew that they meant nothing. That I was the only one that Magnus could stand to be around for more than a couple of hours."

He stops, and takes a deep breath before finishing. "And then you came along. I could tell that something was different about Magnus, even before you guys saw each other a second time. Then, when he talked about you in his apartment that night, his eyes lit up and his body seemed possessed by some kind of energy. I mean, Magnus has always had this light, but it was different. He is different, with you."

He looks up at me with a rueful smile. "When he told me that he didn't care about keeping your relationship a secret, I kind of just cracked. That's when I really knew. Magnus isn't really one to stay in the shadows. He's proud of who he is, and respects himself too much to pretend to be anything he's not. For him to repress that part of himself for you, well…He cares about you a lot. You're the first person he's ever cared about, to my knowledge. And I'm trying really hard not to hate you for that."

He laughs a little, to try to ease the tension, and surprisingly I find myself laughing too. Josh flushes, not knowing if he's said too much, and that just makes me like him a little bit more. At least I'm not the only one who can't stop it from happening.

I shift again so that Josh and I are face to face. "Before Magnus there was a guy," I say, surprised to find that I can now talk about Jace like any other friend. "I loved him for a long time – not as long as you've loved Magnus, but still, a while. I know how you feel, and that really helps with the not hating you back."

Josh smiles and his tense posture eases up a little. "You make Magnus happy," he says, "and that's what I want, really. I'm not going to pretend that it doesn't hurt, and I probably won't be able to be around for a while, but I am glad you're here, Alec. Anyway, he's been talking about you all day, so you should probably go find him now."

I look out at the crowd, and the fear must show, because Josh laughs again. It's a nice laugh. "Hold on a sec," he says, getting up from the chair to scurry over to a table piled high with drinks. He pours a shot of something and brings it over to me.

"Here," he says, thrusting it in my face. "There's no lemon, but this will have to do."

I eye the glass warily. Drinking has never really been my thing.

"Come on," Josh urges, practically bouncing in his seat. "Think of it as a confidence booster, something to get you through the crowd."

Knowing that I'll never live it down if I refuse, I tip the glass up and gulp the tequila down. The shot burns my throat, but I manage to keep from coughing. Josh claps me on the back, a grin on his face. "Good luck."

"Thanks Josh," I say. And I really mean it. He doesn't owe me anything, but he still tried to explain – yet another example of someone who's too nice for me. Pushing that thought out of my mind, I focus on finding Magnus as quickly as possible, losing myself in the crowd.

Thankfully, this time I'm not physically accosted. No one tries to pull me into them or grab my ass, but one guy does wink at me, which motivates me to walk just a little bit quicker. When I get out of the narrow entryway and into the gigantic living area, I finally make out the spikes of Magnus's hair over the crowd.

As I get closer, I realize what Josh meant by Magnus's pull. I knew that I had always been attracted to him, but seeing him in a room full of lust-ridden partiers makes me realize just what kind of effect Magnus has on people in general. He moves as if he's part of the music instead of just listening to it. His hips - the target of many a wandering hand, I notice with a flash of irritation - are hypnotizing, wrapped in tight leather pants and moving like they were made for something more than ordinary body parts. His eyes are closed and his head is tipped back, and I can tell that he barely notices everyone around him.

But they definitely notice him. I can see them, noticing his ass, perfect in those pants, his biceps, flexing under the tight material of his shirt, his flat stomach, showcased with every movement. One man, bolder than the rest, steps forward and locks his arms around Magnus's neck. Surprised, Magnus's eyes open just in time for the man to lean in to suck on his neck. The fact that Magnus untangles himself within seconds and walks away does nothing to quell the tidal wave of rage that crashes over me. I'm glad for the crowd, because if there was nothing standing between me and this brown-haired cretin, I don't think I could stop myself from making sure he could never use that mouth again. The spasm of jealousy at hearing Josh's confession is laughable in comparison. Still, the urge to see Magnus, to touch him myself, outweighs the primal instinct to destroy my competition, so I too turn away.

I manage to sneak up behind Magnus without him seeing me, and wrap my arms around his waist. I dip my head in, reclaiming the side of his neck for myself.

He spins around quickly, looking incredibly pissed, but his expression softens when he realizes it's me.

"Alec," he says, threading his fingers through mine. "You're finally here."

I lean in to press my lips against his neck again, nipping a little at the skin. He pushes me away and I feel the smallest trickle of hurt. Why doesn't he want me to touch him?

"Don't give me that look," he says, obviously knowing exactly what's going through my mind. "You're the one who wants to keep this a secret. I'm no expert in covert ops, but the best way to do that is probably not by latching on like some kind of horny vampire."

The time apart and the fact that everyone's hands are all over Magnus render his logic inconsequential. "No one here knows who I am," I whisper, letting my tongue run along Magnus's ear. "They'll just know that you're taken."

Again, Magnus pushes me away. "You don't know that, Alec. If you don't want this to get out, then you're going to have to be careful all the time." There's a look on his face that I can't quite pinpoint – anxiety, maybe? Whatever it is, the fact that he cares enough to stop me from doing something I know he wants makes me want to attack him even more. This feeling of awe combined with the pure lust that his attire and movements inspire is too much to ignore. Not giving him time to argue, I grab his hand and drag him toward his bedroom. With my free arm I shove the table that's blocking the door out of the way, and haul him inside.

After a quick turn of the lock, I barrel into him, forcing my body against his and capturing his lips with mine. He tries to ask if I'm drunk, but I just shake my head and refuse to give up my hold. I run my hands up his shirt, scratching my nails against his back as they make their way down. He moans, and I take his bottom lip between my teeth, nipping just hard enough to shock his eyes open. I continue the nipping across his jaw and down to his throat, doing my best to leave evidence of my attention.

While my lips are busy preoccupying Magnus, I put my hands to quick work with his belt. It takes a bit of fumbling – sexual finesse is not my selling point as a partner – but I get the job done without breaking the kiss. Another two seconds and Magnus's pants are undone. I grab his hair and pull his head back from mine. Before he can complain I lean in to whisper in his ear. "You are so fucking sexy tonight." He doesn't say anything, just looks at me in wonder.

Though I can barely hear myself think over the music, the sound of my knees hitting the floor all but echoes through the room. Magnus's eyes widen as I pull down his pants, but he doesn't make a sound, just runs his fingers through my hair. I feel a paroxysm of fear when I think, for just one second, about what I'm doing, but I push the thought away hard and fast. This isn't about me. This is about Magnus and showing him how sexy, how perfect, and how incredibly appreciated he is.

Magnus's groan and subsequent tightening of his hands around my hair let me know that while my technique may not be perfect, the effort is certainly appreciated. I try to mimic his actions from last week – sliding my tongue up and down, swirling it around the head, hollowing my cheeks – and just use his noises as a sounding board. There's a lot of changing positions and bobbing around, but eventually I find a way to get all the way to the base, and I can tell that Magnus enjoys it just as much as I did. I can feel the muscles in his legs contract, and I tighten my hold on him. If the increased pressure hurts, he doesn't do anything to stop me.

When my name tumbles from his lips, I completely forget about technique and just go, gulping and swallowing and moving as quickly as I can. I wrap my hand around the portion of his cock that's not in my mouth, and start stroking as quickly as I can with the limited space. The extra stimulus pushes Magnus over the edge. His hands, which were balanced carefully on my head, are now pushing me forward. His cries become garbled moans and his legs start to shake.

"Alec," he whispers with supreme effort. "I'm so close, you don't have…don't have to."

I ignore the warning, not wanting to interrupt this for anything. I doubt I could stop if someone walked through the door. Having the power to reduce Magnus to this incoherent mess, hearing the strangled cries erupting against his will, is intoxicating. He calls my name as he climaxes, and I swallow quickly, keeping my mouth over him until I'm sure he's finished.

As I rise up from the floor, I drag his pants back up over his thighs and kiss him gently on the lips. When I start to move away, he pulls me back in, resting his chin on my head. "Where did you come from?" he murmurs. I flush, the realization of what I've just done kicking in, but remain silent.

"Seriously, Alec. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you drag me out of a party and blow me with hundreds of people just a few feet away."

As if he can feel the heat on my face, he tips up my chin, chuckling. "Don't be embarrassed, sweetheart. That was incredibly hot. Definitely worth a reward." His hands edge down toward my pants, and I stop him before he can start undoing them.

"You have to get back to your party," I scold. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

He raises an eyebrow, making me immediately regret my decision to stop him. "Does this mean you're going to stay?"

"Oh I'm staying," I reply. "If only to castrate every person who thinks that your bed is open to anyone but me."

Magnus wraps his leg around my hip and grinds against me, a wicked grin on his face. I fight to keep a straight face. "Don't worry," he says, lifting one of my fingers to his mouth and sucking on it gently. "I can find much better uses for your hands than that."

Before I can answer, he flicks the knob and disappears back out into the crowd, leaving me alone to contemplate how much I really hate parties.

Despite the fact that I'm hornier than I've ever been in my life, the rest of the party doesn't end up being too bad. Josh turns out to be great company when it's just the two of us, and we spend most of the night ignoring the ruckus and discussing classic literature. He tries to explain the basics of computational mechanics, but I don't last forty five seconds before I beg him to stop. Magnus senses Josh's discomfort at seeing us together, and only pops over every half an hour or so, each time trying out a new way to kiss me without anyone noticing. One attempt at stealth ends with whatever cocktail he's sipping all over my neck. That little debacle warrants a ten-minute break from the party, since Magnus refuses to let me go until he's made sure that every drop is licked off. It's even harder to leave his bedroom the second time around, so he decides to cut the party short. Just past one he ushers his last few guests out, and comes to collapse on the sofa, his head landing conveniently in my lap.

"Are you tired?" I ask as I play with his hair, running my fingers through it to tease out the gel.

"No," he sighs, not opening his eyes. "Just content."

"Magnus Bane, content to lie on the couch instead of party? I really have corrupted you haven't I?" I poke him in the ribs and he shoots up with a giggle. It may be the most adorable thing I've ever seen. The cuteness, however, doesn't last. Magnus shifts himself into my lap, wrapping his legs around my waist.

"If anyone's going to be corrupted around here, it's going to be you." He leans in for a kiss and my body tingles just as it did the first time. If anything, knowing what Magnus's mouth is capable of has only made the kissing more exciting. When his tongue flicks out, all I can think of is his head bobbing up and down beneath his blankets, and a whimper escapes my throat.

Wanting more room to explore but loath to break the kiss, I push myself up from the sofa – Magnus still wrapped around me – and carry him into the bedroom. Once there, I throw him on the bed, ridding myself of my shirt before I cover his body with mine.

"No fair," he pouts between kisses. "I wanted to take that off myself."

"There are other things you can take off," I reply, rolling his tight shirt up and over his head.

"There are indeed," he smirks, sliding his fingers down. Since my jeans aren't painted on, as soon as they're undone I can kick them off myself. Once they're on the floor, I pull my boyfriend's off for the second time that night, my cheeks still coloring a little at his lack of boxers.

Looking down at Magnus, naked and practically glowing under the soft light of his lamp takes my breath away. I've never seen anything so beautiful. His skin is flawless, not marred by any scars, and feels like silk under my hands. His muscles, while not bulky, have a sharp definition that compliments his effortless sex appeal. He really is breathtaking, and he's mine, and I have no idea how that even happened, but I know that I could never go back to being without him.

I don't even realize that I'm staring until Magnus's voice breaks me out from my trance. "Alec, are you okay?"

I smile and I feel his heart speed up beneath my hand. "You're beautiful," I say, leaning down to kiss him. "So beautiful."

Now that he's lying before me, I realize that there's so much of him that I've left unexplored. I kiss down his chest, running my tongue over one nipple and then the other, shivering slightly as he moans in pleasure. I run my hands over his skin, tracing patterns across his hips. I shrug out of my boxers and press our bodies together, reveling in the friction it creates.

Before things get too heated, I roll off my Magnus and onto my side, pulling him against me. He smiles sweetly and I believe my heart could burst.

"Magnus?" I ask, struggling to keep my breathing steady.

He leans in to kiss my nose. "Yes, love?"

I can feel my face heating up, but I make myself look into his eyes. "I want my first time to be with you. I want you, Magnus, more than I've ever wanted anything."

Magnus stiffens, and for a second I'm afraid that I've overstepped – that for some reason he doesn't want to have sex with me. But then I take in his dilated pupils, feel his heart racing against my hand, see the quick rise and fall of his chest, and realize that he's nervous.

"Are you sure, Alec?" His voice wavers and his arms circle around me protectively. "I don't want to do anything you'll regret."

"I won't, Magnus. I want to do this with you." I lean forward and pour everything I can't explain into a kiss. All the want, the fear, the hope, the excitement – everything. Magnus smiles into the kiss and I know he understands.

"How do you want to do this?" he asks when we break apart. "I want it to be perfect for you."

"I don't know," I admit, looking down at the sheets. "I'm not experienced; not like you."

Magnus cups my face with his hand, tilting my head so that I'm looking at him once again. "I want you to know that this – what we're going to do together – I've never done before. My past – everything I've done up until now – is nothing like being with you. Remember that, Alec."

I nod my head, not trusting myself to speak.

"It might be easier," Magnus continues, "for you to be on top."

His voice is soft and his eyes gentle, but his soothing presence can't stop the wave of paralyzing fear. "No, I don't want to do that," I argue. I don't want to fuck this up is what I mean, but I keep that little tidbit to myself.

"I don't want to hurt you, Alec," Magnus says, biting down on his lip. "It's going to be uncomfortable, and I don't want that."

"I don't care," I insist. "This is how I want it to be the first time. I want you to make love to me." For the first time ever, I manage to force a blush out of Magnus. He tries to cover it with a kiss, but I know what I saw.

Without breaking away, Magnus reaches over and grabs a bottle from his night table. I try not to seize up when I hear him pop the lid and squirt some of the liquid on his fingers, but I can't help myself.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Magnus asks, clearly worried. "We don't have to do this."

"I want to Magnus, I swear. I'm just a little scared, that's all."

"Don't be scared baby," he murmurs, kissing me lightly before moving his fingers downward.

Magnus takes his time, pressing into me slowly, using his free hand to try to distract me from the pain. He whispers sweetly into my ear, doing everything he can make the new sensation bearable. Then he repeats the process with a second finger, and a third, and miraculously the pain begins to ebb, leading into a whole world of pleasure. Though I know it's hard for him, he goes slowly, letting me enjoy the new sensations.

When I finally plead for more, he gently lifts my leg, placing himself over me with the utmost care. I try not to gasp in pain as he begins to push in, but it's impossible. Instead of stopping or telling me that he was right, he just leans down and places feather-light kisses on my eyes, my cheeks, my lips. He tells me that I'm perfect and he wraps his hand around my erection, trying once again to make up for the pain.

The burning lasts longer than it did with his fingers, but it eventually fades. Magnus draws me close and thrusts in and out slowly, savoring the feeling of my body. His eyes are bright and full of emotion, and I notice that his hands are shaking a little. He wraps them around my neck and I press into his thrusts, forcing him further inside me. I gasp out his name as the pleasure takes over, and he understands the cue to speed up.

Once the pain has entirely disappeared, Magnus lets me in on what he can really do. He knows exactly how to move his body – when to swivel his hips, when thrust to deeper, when change the angle. As his rhythm speeds up, so does his hand, and soon all discomfort is lost and I'm moaning his name, digging my fingers into his back for more. His abs contract as he arches his body upward, thrusting deep inside to stimulate my prostate, leaving me nearly incoherent every time he brushes against it. I'm holding on through sheer force of will when he finally calls out my name, and I feel him shooting inside me. A quick twist of his wrist and I tumble right over the edge with him, lost in a haze of bliss. Lost in everything that is Magnus.

When I wake up, Magnus is still cuddled into me, his cheek pressed against my chest. He looks so peaceful, his face smooth and innocent in the hazy light streaming in from his window. I don't want to wake him, but I need to stretch – last night's activities took a toll on my body, and I'm afraid that if I don't work out the kinks as soon as possible, I might just seize up forever.

As gently as I can I slide out from under Magnus, propping his head on a pillow, and stretch my legs to their fullest capabilities. I let out a small groan of pain and I feel Magnus stir beside me.

Cursing my own stupidity, I will him to go back to sleep, pulling the blanket up over his exposed arms, but his eyes flutter open. "Morning beautiful," he murmurs, pushing himself back into me. "Are you trying to escape?"

I laugh and place a kiss on his forehead. "No, just trying to assess the damage you did last night."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, smile wiped from his face. "I really didn't want to hurt you."

I pull him in closer, running my fingers lightly over his back. "Last night was perfect. It was – it was everything."

Magnus lifts his head up, and I notice that his eyes are dewy. He hesitates for a few seconds, and I feel a prickle of unease. "Alec," he says, blushing faintly. "I – I love you."

It takes a second for me to process the words, and when I do I can only stare at Magnus dumbly. It's not that I haven't thought the words myself – it's not like I don't understand that I'm falling in love with Magnus, but I'm just not ready to admit it. It's too soon. I try to answer him, try to say something, but by the time I sort out my thoughts, I know it's too late. I can see the hurt on Magnus's face; can see the regret in his eyes.

"Alec, I –"

"No, don't say anything." I plead. "Don't, just don't take it back." I stumble out of bed, looking around for my clothes, needing to get out over here before I make this worse. "I mean, you can take it back, if you want. Just forget about it?"

That was definitely not the right thing to say. Magnus's face is crumpled now, tears trickling down. I feel a strange sense of vertigo, and almost fall to the floor. The night at the bus stop comes flooding back, Magnus's teary eyes and heartbroken pleas, and I just feel overwhelmed by the fact that I'm not good enough for him. I fucked up our first date, I fucked up our first sleepover, and now I've fucked this up. Everything Josh said last night about Magnus's light and his spirit, everything that makes him unique, all of that will be wiped away if he stays with me. He shouldn't love someone who will only force him to hide, force him to become less than everything he is. Someone who can't admit he loves him.

"You want to just forget about it?" he whispers. "Do you want to forget about it?"

"No, Magnus. No, I just – you just…shouldn't." You shouldn't love me. "I just have to get home. Izzy will be worried about me."

"Alec, don't go," he pleads, and the words nearly break my heart. "I understand that you're freaked out."

"No, you don't understand, Magnus," I snap back, tears of my own running down my face. "I can't do this to you. I can't let you fall in love with me when I can't even admit to the world that we're a couple. I can't watch you stand in the shadows. I can't be the person who does that to you."

"I don't care, Alec. I don't care about that." He looks so broken that I almost throw myself at him to beg for forgiveness. I want to, but that would be the selfish solution. I can't stay here until I know that I can give Magnus what he needs. What he deserves.

"Well I do," I say, opening his bedroom door. "I care enough to tell you to find someone else. Someone better."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Disclaimers: "Mosbied" is a How I Met your Mother Reference. I did not make it up. Also, The Catcher in the Rye belongs to J.D. Salinger.

Chapter Eighteen: Magnus

The sharp click of the door shutting brings me back to my senses. Alec is gone. Alec just walked out. Alec doesn't love me.

No. I refuse to believe that. This was all me. Me, being incredibly stupid and not stopping to think. Me, just looking at Alec with his mussed hair and sleepy eyes and saying the first thing that came to mind. I Mosbied Alec. Alec, the guy who needed two weeks and a mini-breakdown to take off his sweater. What did I think was going to happen? That he'd burst into tears and we'd spend the rest of the morning picking out wedding stationary?

In the past twenty-four hours Alec obsessed over a huge secret while being scrutinized by his family, had an uncomfortable heart-to-heart, gave his first blowjob, and lost his virginity. All that from a boy who needs a pep talk to go to the fucking mall. And what did I do to help? To ease the stress? Profess my love for him. Really, I should get an award: High King of Colossal Idiocy. I mean, I love Alec. The fact that he just walked out on me and all I want to do is run after him pretty much solidifies that fact. I love him. I love the way chews his lip after he's told a story about himself, I love the way that his fingers curl around my hair when he kisses me, and I love the fact that he memorizes famous passages, even if it is something he picked up from the boy he could admit to loving.

I feel a stab of jealousy, thinking about Alec's past with Jace, but I know it's not fair. They knew each other for years. Plus, after last night I know that Alec cares about me. Maybe even loves me back. What happened between us was real, and I'm not going to let this fuck it up. I know that if I don't go after Alec, he'll never show his face here again. If I give into my pride and stay in this bed sulking, I'll be giving this ugly situation time to fester. He'll pile it all on himself, just like he always does, and who knows if I'll ever get him back. My stomach twists painfully at the thought.

There's only one thing to do: go after him.

I get the cab to stop at the end of Alec's street. Now that I'm here, I feel a little nervous. What if I was wrong? What if Alec really does want nothing to do with me and the sight of me bounding up his drive, hair disheveled, eyes puffy, and wearing last night's clothes makes him run for cover? My heart is clanging around in my chest like someone's severed its roots, and it's just looking for somewhere to fall. I take a couple of deep breaths, reminding myself of the way Alec looked at me last night, recalling the way his voice sounded when he told me I was beautiful. It gives me the strength to keep walking.

I'm almost at the front gate when I see that someone else is following the same trajectory, just from the opposite direction. A guy – tall and toned and golden. He looks like an angel, almost glowing in the early morning sun. The pounding of my heart stops and a cold dread creeps out from my chest, sluicing through my veins. This golden boy – this too perfect specimen who's walking toward Alec's house as if he's on a mission – can only be one, impossible person: Jace Herondale.

Jace's golden head disappears through Alec's front gate, and I hurry forward, peeping through the ivy covered bars at the scene within. Alec's sitting on the front steps, his head resting on his knees. His body is shaking slightly and I move forward, my heart aching to join him. To hug him, and tell him that everything is going to be all right. That I would wait forever for him. But I can't do it. I can't bring myself to stand beside Jace, who looks almost inhumanely beautiful. No wonder Alec loved him. Or loves him. Loved. Definitely loved.

I cling to the memory of last night furiously, like a dying man clings to life. I desperately replay the touches, the whispers, the feelings, trying to ward off the terror that threatens to envelope me.

Jace is close enough to touch the steps before Alec snaps his head up. It might be wishful thinking on my part, but his eyes look fervent – hopeful – like he's been waiting there for someone to show up. For me to show up. In any case, the look doesn't last long enough for me to decipher. Once Alec recognizes the person walking toward him, all the color drains from his face. He shakes his head, as if sure he's having some sort of hallucination.

"Jace?" he says, his voice cracking with emotion. It's hard to tell if he's been crying or if he's just affected by his squad mate's presence. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard this was a good time for seeing ducks. You know, before they go away in the winter?" He grins at Alec; it's the lopsided smirk of a boy who's used to having people fall in love with him. I've never hated a smile so much.

"Catcher in the Rye?" Alec asks. "That was the first thing that came to your mind after months apart?"

Another smirk. "I thought you'd appreciate the irony."

Alec smiles for a second – the brief, shy smile that I thought was reserved for me – and the terror creeps a little closer. He pushes his hands down, ready to lift himself up, but Jace just takes the seat beside him. Their shoulders touch and I feel a sharp pain in my palm. When I look down I realize I've been gripping the thorn-ridden plant hard enough to draw blood.

The two just sit there for a few minutes, and it's Jace who finally breaks the silence. "It's been a long time," he says. "When I woke up, you were just gone."

Alec looks down at the ground, his toes tracing patterns in the dirt. "I thought it was what you would have wanted."

"What I would have wanted? What the hell Alec. We were together for over three years. I thought – I mean…didn't I mean more to you than that?"

Alec looks up, his face contorted in pain. "But," he whispers, "it was all my fault. What happened. You wanted to - "

"You saved my life, Alec." Jace's voice is harsh now, his cheeks flushed. Rather than making him look cruel, the heightened emotion seems to awaken a whole new level of beauty. What kind of chance do I stand against someone like this?

The anger dissipates as quickly as it came, and is replaced by a soft vulnerability. Jace takes Alec's hand in his own. "I thought that meant something."

The scene is quickly becoming a nightmare, but I can't tear myself away. I keep staring, willing Alec to take his hand away. "Just take it away," I whisper. "Take it away, Alec." A tear slips down my face and I tighten my hold on the ivy.

When Alec doesn't answer, Jace slowly rolls up his sleeve, looking at his burns. Jealousy burns through me again – Jace doesn't have to wait to see Alec's injuries. I know it's petty, but I can't help it.

Jace runs his fingers up Alec's arm. Alec flushes and I think I'm going to be sick.

"Did you miss me, Alec? Did you even think about me at all, or were you just pissed that I let this happen to you?"

This finally gets a reaction out of Alec. He leaps to his feet, breathing hard. "Did I miss you?" he repeats. He runs his hands through his hair, his expression maniacal. "Jace, I thought about you every day in that stupid hospital. I replayed that morning in my mind every time my eyes closed. I almost lost my mind, that's how much I missed you. Since I left I've been doing everything I can not to miss you. And then you show up here – now, of all times." His voice becomes a plea. "What do you want from me?"

Those words are all I need to hear. That's what the past two months have been: Alec trying to forget about Jace, losing himself in someone else. Me, the first person to pay attention to him. The first person to kiss him. The first person to chase after him like a lovesick puppy. I want to go over and take my words back. Tell him that I never loved him and that I got what I wanted from him last night. I want to erase everything – every smile, every kiss, every sigh. I start to sob and I can barely hear what they boys are saying anymore. I want to tell him that I hate him.

But I can't. Even now, it would be impossible. A small wail breaks out, and I look up, afraid that they may have heard me.

They definitely haven't. Jace's arms are around Alec's neck, their bodies pressed together. I stare for one last tortured second, hoping against hope that Alec will push him away.

When their lips press together I let the pain wash over. I turn around and walk away.

It's over. Alec never loved me at all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Disclaimers: The Waste Land belongs to T.S. Eliot, The Catcher in the Rye to J.D. Salinger, and Mr. Darcy and Heathcliff to Austen and Bronte. "I paint my dreams" is from an earlier chapter, and still is credited to Van Gogh.

Chapter Nineteen: Alec

The first time I saw Jace, he was wet. I was the last to arrive for training, and so I was assigned to the only room that had a single occupant. When Jace came out of the shower, towel wrapped loosely around his hips, blonde hair sticking to his neck, tiny droplets of water following the contours of his muscled chest, I thought I was having some sort of hallucination. I had noticed guys before – even, as awkward as it inevitably was, guys I had trained with. But they were nothing compared to this. Seeing Jace for the first time was like being kicked in the balls: a sharp pain that started in the pit of my stomach and radiated through my whole body.

From there, it only got worse. Even in the beginning, when Jace was an unmitigated jackass, I couldn't stop myself from wanting him. By this point, it wasn't only what he looked like – although I had to admit that wet, dry, sweaty, dirty, sleeping, Jace was the most beautiful person I had ever seen – it was everything about him: the snarky attitude, the confident swagger, the almost preternatural grace under pressure. Once I found out that there was a different side of Jace – a vulnerable, slightly broken side – I was gone. Jace was Mr. Darcy, he was Holden Caulfield, he was – God help me – Heathcliff, and I was the one he opened up to. It was sweet torture, and I couldn't decide which was worse: being around him or being away from him.

Needless to say, I spent the vast majority of three years devising infinite scenarios that starred Jace confessing his love to me, taking me into his arms, and doing exactly what he's doing right now.

And everything is exactly as I imagined it would be, save one minor difference: I am not enjoying this.

When Jace presses against me, I'm too confused to react. I stand there, frozen, as his hands pull me even closer. His head tilts and his eyes flutter shut and I have about half a second to figure out what's happening before his lips are on mine.

Through some sort of reflex, my arms reach upward, even though Jace is shorter than I am. I grasp at air for a moment, my arms reaching for the space usually occupied by Magnus's neck. Gravity drags them down and they crash against Jace's shoulders. Unfortunately, Jace misconstrues this awkward motion as frantic passion, and pulls me even tighter. His grip is so tight that I can't push away, and when I try to open my mouth, Jace just interprets the action as an opportunity to push his tongue inside.

As Jace's tongue slips up against mine, the only thought racing through my mind is how completely and horribly wrong this is. Instead of feeling hot and frenzied, the kiss feels forced and just…wet. It's not that the technique is off – I mean, who am I to judge, really – it's just that the way that Jace's lips are chapped and the way his arms are crushing my back, and the way his tongue tastes like grape popsicles is not appealing. Maybe it should be, but it's not. This is not what I thought it would be.

He's not Magnus.

I use all the strength I have to push Jace away. His eyes snap open and he wobbles a bit on his feet. His face flashes from surprised to confused to anguished to horrified so quickly I barely catch the change.

"Oh Fuck," he whispers. "Oh shit. Did I...was I? Are you actually not gay?" His eyes are wide and the veins in his neck are straining against the skin. I have the strangest urge to laugh.

"That's impossible," he continues. "I noticed the way you looked at me. The way you…"

"I am gay," I say quietly, "you weren't imagining things."

Jace smiles a little, perhaps thinking that I was just nervous or confused about the kiss, and I selfishly think of how easy it would be to be with him. With Jace there would be no drama – no makeup, no frills, no massive parties. There would always be people throwing themselves at him, but Jace, despite his arrogance, has never really been one for attention. He picks something he wants and focuses on it wholeheartedly. With Jace there would also be no pressure – no worrying about hiding him away, no worrying about him thinking I was ashamed, no worrying about coming out to the world. Jace and I could spend time together without attracting attention. Everyone would think we were friends. We eat the same food, we have the same hobbies, and we read the same books. There would be no pressure to talk about memories we both know belong buried. There would be a mutual understanding. We shared an experience that binds us to one another. We get each other on some basic, primitive level.

Except it wouldn't work, for precisely all those reasons. Because the person I want to be with is the very opposite of all those things. Because every time I closed my eyes, or brushed up against Jace's lips, or murmured his name low in my throat, I would be thinking of one person: Magnus. Since that first night in his room it had all been about Magnus. And after last night, I know everything will always be Magnus. Too bad it took me breaking his heart to figure it out.

Jace brushes my arm, forcing me back to reality. He leans in again, apparently ready to try a gentler approach, but I take his hands and hold him back.

"I don't understand," he says, brushing his fingers across my hand. "What's wrong?"

Even though I'm not in love with him, I still don't want to see Jace hurt. He's been hurt too much in his life, and I don't want to be the cause of any more pain. Any explanation seems to callous, too contrived. So I settle for someone else's words.

"I could not speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing, looking into the heart of light, the silence."

'The Waste Land?" Jace asks, clearly more confused than ever. "You shit on me for Catcher in the Rye, and after your first kiss you recite lines from The Waste Land?"

I meet Jace's eyes, unwilling to look ashamed as I admit this. "That wasn't my first kiss."

I see another flash of pain in Jace's eyes, but he covers it with a smirk. "You think I believe any of those stories you told, Alec? Come on, I know you better than that. There were no model friends. Even talking about kissing made you uncomfortable."

When I answer my voice is steady, but soft. "You're right, Jace. It's happened since I got back."

Jace starts to talk, but I put my hand over his and he falls quiet.

"I met someone," I admit. As happened with Isabelle, admitting that Magnus exists makes me feel warm and relaxed rather than panicked. I like talking about him. I like admitting that I'm connected to him. "He's my boyfriend. He's – well, I love him."

I can feel Jace pulling away before he even moves his hand. His eyes darken and his shoulders slump inward. His face hardens and the cords of muscle along his arms flex. I know that he's trying his best not to lash out, to say something that he'll regret, and I steel myself for the inevitable blow.

To my surprise, it doesn't come. In fact, Jace takes a few deep breaths, and his body slowly unfurls. He doesn't look happy, but he doesn't walk away either. "I think maybe we should talk," he says.

I smile. "I think maybe you're right."

After the initial shock, Jace's presence turns out to be anything but awkward. Though I can tell that he's a little stung by the rejection, he just laughs it off and says that "he's too pretty" for me anyway. He's not what I would call the world's best listener, and he's no relationship guru, but a little X-box therapy ends up doing wonders. I even manage to convince him to stay the night, since his flight out of New York isn't until the next morning.

When I get back from dropping Jace off at the airport, I feel better than I have in months. All the pain of wondering if Magnus was some kind of substitute, all the doubt about my feelings, all the uncertainty is gone. I know that things between us might not be easy, and I know that Magnus has no reason to forgive me for just running away again, but I also know that I won't be happy with anyone but him.

Secure in the knowledge of my affection, I decide to take advantage of the rare sunshine and walk to Magnus's right away. The air is frosty, but the cold does little to dull my buzzing nerves. On the way I stop into a little boutique that sells postcards. Luckily, the picture I want is pretty popular, and I find it right away: a print of Irises. I get a pen from the owner of the shop and scribble on the back: "I'm painting my dream now – I love you too, Magnus." I drop the postcard in my pocket and continue to Magnus's apartment, feeling lighter with every step.

The lightness lasts until I'm in front of the buzzer. Then, those free, happy thoughts turn into little wasps stinging at my brain: What if Magnus isn't home? What if Magnus hates your guts? What if Magnus calls you up there just to tell you what an idiot you are before actually dumping your ass? Still, I've been a big enough coward, and this is no time to wimp out. Clenching my teeth I lean forward and push the button.

"Hello?" Magnus's voice sounds flat and scratchy. I can't tell if he's tired, or sick, or hung over, or miserable. I should be able to tell.

"M-Magnus?" I say, trying to keep from vomiting right in front of his house. "It's me. Alec."

"Go away," he says into the speaker.

I cringe, but refuse to give up that easily. "Come on Magnus, let me up. I just want to talk to you. Explain some things."

"Fuck you," he slurs. Definitely drunk.

"Magnus, please." I wait. No answer. I wait five more minutes. No answer. Just when I'm about to give up, I see a woman approaching the front door, riffling in her bag for her key. I press the buzzer before she can get close enough to hear me. "There'sanoldladyhereandI'mcomingup."

Thankfully Magnus doesn't have time to decipher the message before the lady lets me in and I sprint up to his apartment. Pushing away the anxiety, I steel myself for a solid argument and knock.

I don't even wait for the door to completely open before I start. "Magnus, I know I left in a hurry, but there are really -" The door swings open, and I swear I look like a stupid cartoon character doing a double take. "Josh?"

Instead of Magnus, a barely-clothed Josh is standing before me. Hair tipped purple and rumpled, neck and lips swollen, a drink in his hand. "What – what are you doing here? Did you stay over or something?"

Josh blushes and looks at his feet. "Alec, I think you should just go. You shouldn't be here."

I push my way into the room and see Magnus standing a few feet behind his friend in a similar state of disarray. "What the hell is going on here?" I ask, trying my best to sound infuriated rather than like I want to cry.

Magnus, who is most definitely trashed, walks up to Josh and snakes an arm around his waist. "What does is look like, Alec?"

He runs his hand up Josh's side, and Josh flushes even deeper, looking acutely uncomfortable. "Alec, you should really go," he whispers, moving Magnus's hand away.

"Josh, what the fuck are you being so nice for?" Magnus growls. "You don't owe this asshole anything."

I'm not sure who I want to punch more – Magnus or Josh. I clench my fists to keep from doing either. "I'm the asshole? I came over here to explain myself, and this is what I get. How about you owe me something, Magnus? How about five fucking minutes for me to at least give you an explanation."

Magnus laughs and the sound sends a shiver through my spine. Magnus isn't supposed to sound like that. Not my Magnus. "An explanation? Alec, I don't want shit from you. You can keep your little excuses and you can get out of my apartment. I don't want you here."

"I'm not going anywhere," I argue, unwilling to give up. I focus on Magnus and feel slightly sick when I see the hickey on his neck. I don't really know which thought is worse: thinking that he's having sex with Josh when proof of our night together is still on his skin or thinking that Josh is actually the one who put that there.

"Fine, watch from the sidelines," he growls, his eyes glinting. "That's what you're good at, isn't it?" He leans in and presses his lips against Josh's, grinding his hips into him.

I don't stay to witness anything else. The sound of their lips smacking together is enough to haunt me for the rest of my life. Plus, after Magnus's remark I can't hide my tears any longer. Magnus, the one person I felt I could trust with my secret, has confirmed my worst fear: that I really am a coward.

As I race down the steps, I know I needn't worry about Magnus sitting over here, hurting because of me. His declaration of love, if it was even real to begin with, means nothing now. I rip the postcard out of my pocket and let it fall to the ground. Let the wind carry it somewhere far away from me.

It's over. Magnus doesn't love me at all.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty: Magnus

Alec is barely out the door when Josh pushes me away from him, his face livid. It takes me a few steps to steady myself, and even then it looks like there are two Josh's advancing on me.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" he yells, grabbing me by the arm and leading me to the couch.

"I don't really do much of anything in God's name," I counter, slumping against the cushions. I rub my face against the velvety material. It's so soft. Almost like Alec's skin. The thought closes my throat, but I fight through the pain. I refuse to spend today like I did yesterday – a blubbering mess.

Josh hauls his shirt back on and stands in front of me, hands on his hips. "Oh, that's absolutely true. You do everything in Magnus Bane's name. For Magnus Bane and Magnus Bane only. You don't give a crap about how it makes everybody else feel."

Josh's words hurt, but adding one more cut to the tattered mess that is my heart is barely noticeable. "Why should I care about how Alec feels, Joshie? I thought you hated the prick anyway?"

"Contrary to what happens in your head, Magnus, not everything is about Alec. I did what you asked me to do. At the snap of your fingers I ripped off my shirt and mussed my hair and let you pinch my bloody neck – which freaking hurts, okay – and felt like a total jackass standing in front of Alec like that, but that's not the problem here. I'm not talking about Alec, who I was actually starting to like. I'm talking about me. Me, Magnus."

I try to sit up straighter, but it doesn't turn out well. "You?" I manage to get out. "What did I do, Josh? I don't want to piss you off too, I need you. I just needed your help."

"That's what you always need, Magnus. Need some info? Go to Josh. Need someone to make sure you don't get walked in on in a public bathroom? Go to Josh. Need someone to clean the puke out of your hair after you've kicked out the guy you were fucking? Go to Josh. Well, I'm not just a go-to guy, Magnus. I have feelings. And you're not blind or stupid, and I know you know that."

Maybe somewhere, in my DNA, there is a decent strand. One little sequence of nucleotides to make up for all the shitty qualities my parents gave me. Unfortunately, if that strand exists, it's currently drowning in whiskey. "Oh Josh," I slur, "it was just a kiss. Don't be such a princess."

Josh sniffles a little, and I notice he's trying to hold back tears. Again, I try to summon up the ability to feel like shit, but I'm too numb.

"Yeah, Magnus, I know it was just a kiss. But you can't just kiss me whenever you feel like it. I don't want to be the kiss that makes Alec jealous. The fake kiss that serves as a blow to your ex-boyfriend."

The haze effectively erases all of Josh's pain, so that all I can focus on is my own. "So what was I supposed to do, huh? Just stand there and let him dump me? Let him tell me that the guy he almost died for has become his gay fucking savior? I just wanted him to feel how I felt while I had to watch them kissing. I just wanted him to know what it felt like. I just wanted him to see." I break off with a choked sob.

Josh sits down next to me, some of the anger fading from his face. His eyes are still shining with tears. "I feel for you Magnus, I really do. Everything you're feeling right now, is exactly what I've been going through for ten years. I know you wanted to make Alec see, because I've been trying to make you see me almost my whole life. And it's not fair that you had to torture Alec at my expense."

I don't really know how to respond. I've known about Josh's feelings for a long time, but I've never talked to him about it. He's the only person I've ever cared about enough to not have sex with, because I can't stand the thought of losing him. "Josh, I'm sorry. Just, please don't hate me. I can't lose you too. I've lost everyone I love, and I couldn't bear it if you finally left."

Josh takes my hand and brings it to his lips. "You're not going to lose me Magnus, you're my best friend. But as a friend, I really have to tell you that you acted like a world-class asshole today. To me, but also to Alec. Don't you think you owed him an explanation?"

The dam of tears finally gives way, and I'm crying again. Josh has been with me for ten years, putting up with me being a complete ass, and I've never even had the decency to try to help him work through his feelings. "I wish I could love you Josh," I sob, the whiskey preventing me from realizing that this is a terrible fucking thing to say. "I wish I could stop loving him."

Josh just lowers my head on his lap and runs his fingers through my hair. My whole body aches when I think of Alec doing this exact thing after the party. "Why didn't you just give him a chance to explain? I mean, Alec doesn't really seem like the cheating type. He seemed really upset when he saw me here."

"I know what I saw, Josh," I argue. "And I refuse to relive it again."

Saying that I don't want to relive it doesn't help. It's all I see, every time I close my eyes. Jace's perfect body enveloping Alec. I try not to think about what happened next, but my imagination is a real bitch these days. I wonder if Alec looked at him the same way he looked at me two nights ago, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. Probably not. Jace probably gets a look all his own. Jace gets Alec's love. Jace gets everything.

I start to sob harder, and Josh moves down and lets me bury my head in his neck. He stays there, holding me as I'm crying, and I'm such a dick that I don't even consider how hard this must be for him. All I can think of is how he doesn't feel like Alec or smell like Alec or squirm around like Alec, and that's enough to erase everything else.

The next morning all I can register is pain. Pounding. Throbbing. Splitting my head in two. My mouth is dry and tastes like complete ass. I roll over and the whole room shifts. My stomach rumbles and I let out a low groan. When I force my eyes open there's a glass of water, two Tylenol, a bag of chips, and a tangerine on the table in front of me. Beside is a note from Josh that says: Don't be too thankful. You're still a jackass.

The note brings back a flood of memories from last night, and I can't hold the nausea back. I sprint for the bathroom, nearly killing myself in the process. Thankfully, I make it to the toilet before I lose the little food that Josh forced in me yesterday. Once I'm all puked out, I just sit there, arms resting against the toilet, my whole body shaking. I feel cold and weak, but I don't want to move. Moving just means more pain. Although, after the way I treated Josh last night, I probably deserve the pain.

The trek back to the couch is as excruciating as a fucking marathon. No matter how light I try to make my footsteps, the sound reverberates through my head like a gong. Once I collapse, I consider picking up my phone to text Josh, but I'm pretty sure that even the click of my keys would be too much right now. Hoping that more sleep will help me, I pop the two Tylenol Josh left out and snuggle back into my pillow.

I've just started to dose off when the buzzer sounds. The pain that rips through my skull is so intense that I wonder for a second if I'm having some sort of stroke. A bursting aneurysm, perhaps? We can dream.

"Go away," I croak at the wall. "Whoever you are."

Unfortunately, the world seems to hate me. The voice of my mystery visitor creeps up through the speaker, and I know that if I hadn't already been sick, it would certainly be happening now.

"Magnus, mon petit, ouvrez la porte." Camille. My little French cherry on top of the worst weekend of my life. Knowing that she'll never give up and go away, I claw my way out of the couch. I walk over to unlock the front door, and then pour myself a drink. Fuck the hangover cure; the only way to get through this meeting is hard liquor.

I have to leave the kitchen when the clicking of her heels becomes audible, because I'm afraid that I'll actually grab a steak knife and stab her. I gulp down a double and then top my glass again before she slithers into the apartment.

"Camille." I don't even look at her as I say it. Instead, I just walk back to the living room and take refuge in a chair. "Please, sit."

Camille raises her eyebrows, but takes a seat. "What a gentleman," she purrs, the corners of her lips twitching.

I take a sip of the drink. "Don't flatter yourself. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I'll never have to have your cheap French ass on my furniture again. Takes forever to get the smell of tramp out."

Camille's eyes narrow, but her smiles stays. "Careful Bane," she warns, her throaty voice putting me more in mind of a bullfrog than bombshell. "What did I tell you about being polite?"

"Fuck polite," I say, putting my drink on the bookshelf beside me. "You came here for one thing, and you know it."

Her smile widens. "True. I assume that means you've made up your mind."

As if it was ever a choice. Despite the thorough stomping on my heart, I could never hurt Alec like that. The stunt with Josh was childish and petty, and he'll get over it. I doubt it even bothered him that much. Hurt his pride, maybe. These pictures getting out would ruin his whole life. Destroy his career. I get up and gently remove the painting from the wall. "Do you have the pictures?"

She puts an envelope on the table, and I take the official bill of sale out of a little chest on the bookcase's highest shelf. I thrust it toward her. "If those pictures ever come out, the painting comes back to me."

Camille is basically drooling as she reads over the document. She takes a fountain pen from her purse and undoes the cap with a flourish. Then, in huge swooping letters that look gaudy instead of elegant, she signs her name. And it's over. Just like that, the one little piece of my mother that decorated this house is gone. Memories of my first date with Alec carried away in her bony fingers.

Before the ink has had time to dry, she starts to laugh. "L'amour," she scoffs. "Makes people into fools."

I pick my drink back up. "I'm surprised that you can even say the word. I would never expect you to understand what it means."

She shrugs. "I understand enough to know to stay away." She leans in to kiss my cheek again, but this time I grab her shoulders, holding her in front of me.

"You listen to me, you evil bitch," I hiss. "If any copy of those pictures surfaces, I swear I will end you. There won't be enough of your reputation left to earn you a decent cardboard box on a street corner. You take that painting, and you stay the hell away from me and from Alec. Tu comprends?"

She doesn't answer, just takes the painting and walks out of the apartment without a second glance. She won't bother me. She knows that I wasn't kidding. I won't have to worry about Camille Belcourt ever again.

I polish off my drink and gently slide the pictures out of the envelope. I carry them to my study, and start feeding them through the shredder. When I get to the last one, I pause. In the photo, Alec is running his hand up my arm. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and he's staring at me like I'm the most important thing in the world. My face isn't visible, but it doesn't matter. The expression on his face says everything I want to believe. Everything I wish was true.

I can't destroy it. Instead, I head toward my bedroom and crawl beneath my comforter. I haven't been in here since the morning Alec left. I don't know if the sheets still smell like him, or if it's just my twisted imagination again, but I don't hesitate to lose myself in the sweet delusion. I prop the picture up on the pillow beside me and stare at the look on Alec's face until I finally drift back to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One: Alec

The only saving grace in this miserable situation is that there has been nobody present to watch me slowly fall apart. With Izzy away for a shoot I can fully take advantage of my situation and sulk without fear of interruption or interrogation. I can yell at the refrigerator without enduring a sideways glance, can dissolve in the shower without worrying about hogging the hot water, and can stare at the picture of Magnus on my cell phone for hours on end without anyone questioning my sanity.

Looking at the picture is the only thing that keeps me calm. I lose myself in it, managing to convince myself for whatever fleeting time the world allows me – sometimes a few seconds, others an hour or more – that this Magnus, the sweet, peaceful Magnus, is the one living on the other side of the city. Burning the sight of Magnus, hair falling across his face, mouth slightly open, face completely relaxed, into my mind is the only weapon I have against my most recent memory of him. The only thing that keeps me from imagining what he was doing before I arrived at his house yesterday. What he was doing after I left. What he's probably doing right now.

Thinking about these things is exactly what I can't do. For thinking of a small, pale hand running up Magnus's thigh, or purple-tipped hair falling across his chest, or kiss-bruised lips trailing down his neck, is enough to drive me mad. But thinking is all I seem to do. Thinking of whether Magnus touches Josh as gently as he did me, or if he's happy that he doesn't have to. If they slowly kiss and whisper "I love you's" or if they're fast and furious, knocking books and pens and frames off the desk because the few feet to the bed is too far. If they stay in to cuddle and watch a movie, or go out to flaunt their love to the world. I honestly don't know which is worse: thinking that Josh is everything I was or that he's everything I didn't have the strength to be.

I should really delete the picture. Delete the picture and find something to do with my life other than sit here, thinking about Magnus and Josh. Something productive.

I bring the picture up for the four millionth time, and hover my thumb over the little garbage can at the bottom of the screen. All I have to do is touch it and the picture will be gone. It should be easy; I mean, first he cheated on me, then he insulted me, then he rubbed both in my face. I understand that running out on him was a shitty thing to do, but how serious could his sentiment have been if it took him less than a day to fill the void with someone else? How much could he have cared about the night we spent together if he could just run out and do the same thing with someone else before the sheets were cold?

Still, just because something should be easy, or logical, or right doesn't mean that it is. I throw the phone on my bed and head down to the kitchen; I figure if recovery has got to start somewhere, it should be with less stressful decisions, like which kind of ice cream to eat.

Just as I've finished digging my way through Isabelle's crap and down to the vanilla, the doorbell rings. The sound is completely unexpected and I drop the ice cream right on my toe. So smooth. I want to ignore the guest, but when you grow up in a military family you learn never to ignore someone ringing your bell. Your stomach flip-flops with every unexpected caller, because you never know if today is going to be the day. At least Isabelle got to find out about me from our parents; if something happened to them we wouldn't have the same luxury.

When I open the door, I feel a strange mix of emotions: there's relief, but paired with overwhelming rage and the distinct urge to destroy.

"Josh," I say as calmly as I can. "I usually never hit people who can't defend themselves, but I find myself really wanting to make an exception right now."

Josh doesn't look scared. In fact, he looks a little sad. I think that's what stops me from lunging forward and ringing his skinny little neck. He doesn't look any happier than I feel. "You can't hurt me Alec," he whispers. "Not any more than I'm already hurt." He looks me over, taking in the unwashed hair and ratty pajama pants. "And I can almost guarantee you that hitting me is not going to get rid of whatever you're feeling right now."

"I wouldn't bet on that," I say, taking a step toward him. "Plus, maybe a little trial and error would be good for my soul."

Josh doesn't back down. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled paper. He unfurls is, smoothing out the edges, and my heart speeds up. I feel a little dizzy, and reach out to grab the door.

It's the postcard from yesterday. "Why do you have that?"

"So you did bring it to Magnus's." It's not a question. He smiles. "I knew it. I knew it yesterday when you showed up at Magnus's house."

The mention of Magnus's house reawakens the rage that has been simmering beneath the surface. I step forward and grab the postcard out of Josh's hands. The sudden movement finally causes him to flinch.

"Josh, I'm going to give you three seconds to turn your skinny blonde ass around and get away from my house."

Instead of heeding my warning, Josh just looks up at me, his eyes clouded with confusion. "I don't get it Alec," he says, sounding a little angry himself now. "If you're in love with Magnus, what the hell were you doing with Jace?"

"Jace?" I repeat, dumbfounded. "What makes you think I want anything to do with Jace?"

"I know he was here," Josh replies. "So don't you act so goddamn high and mighty. Maybe I should be the one threatening to kick the crap out of you, for breaking my best friend's heart."

Though the thought of Josh attempting to hit me would probably make me laugh at any other time, right now I'm just aching for him to try. If he throws the first punch, it would significantly lessen the guilt I would feel for hitting him. He stays firmly rooted where he is, however, so I settle for sneering. "Breaking his heart? I'm pretty sure that broken hearted guys don't spend the night fucking their pathetic best friends."

Josh flushes, but moves closer. "God, you and Magnus are such dicks! Jesus, you're both too busy wallowing in self-pity to open your eyes." He takes a deep breath and his voices rises higher. "I'm sure it's easy for both of you to shit all over me, but if either of you put half as much energy into talking for five seconds, I would not have to deal with ALL. THIS. SHIT!"

He lets out a huge moan of frustration and rubs his temples. I'm too busy trying to understand what he's saying to formulate a response.

The silence works to his advantage. Hands on his hips, arms crossed, he glares at me. "Alec, did you or did you not kiss Jace after leaving Magnus's house?"

"NO!" I explode. "I did not kiss Jace. He showed up here and confessed his feelings for me and kissed me and you know what I did? Pushed him away and told him I loved Magnus. Fat lot of good that did me. Why do – "

Josh clamps his hand over my mouth. "Don't talk until I tell you to," he orders. "Now, why didn't you explain any of this when you showed up at Magnus's apartment?"

"Explain?" I explode. "You were there, Josh, why do you think I didn't explain anything?"

Josh groans again, and pulls on the pieces of hair that are hanging down over his eyes. "Arghhhh. I don't know? You could have called Magnus an ass – told him that you turned down Jace for him."

I cross my arms. "No way. Magnus made his decision; I was not about to look like some whiny ass, begging him to love me as much as I loved him."

"BUT YOU WOULDN'T EVEN TELL HIM YOU LOVED HIM!" Josh screams.

"Well it's a bloody good thing I didn't," I yell right back. "Since he ended up fucking you less than 24 hours after he told me."

"Alec, you idiot. I didn't fuck Magnus. I didn't even kiss Magnus until he pulled that stupid stunt to make you jealous. Magnus ran after you that morning and saw you kissing Jace. He said that you had plenty of time to pull away, but you just let it happen. Then he went home, got sloshed and called me at two in the freaking morning because he had run out of booze and couldn't find his shoes to go get more. When you showed up that morning he thought you were there to dump him. I was pissed at you for hurting Magnus, so I went along with it, even though I thought it was a terrible idea. I promised Magnus I wouldn't interfere, but I knew I was right when I found that postcard."

I have no idea how to reply. I just stand there for a few minutes, mouth flopped open, waiting to wake up. Because this has to be a dream.

Now that Josh has stopped yelling, he seems to have deflated. He walks over beside me, and hauls me down on the steps. We just sit there in silence, Josh giving me time to absorb all this information.

"Why did you come?" I finally manage. "You love him too."

"Of course I love him." Josh smiles, and he looks so sad it almost breaks my heart all over again. "This is what you do when you love someone – make them happy, no matter what the cost." He twists so that he's facing me, and draws his knees up to his chest. "I could have watched Magnus fall apart and been there to pick up the pieces, hoping that by the end of the ordeal he would appreciate all I had done for him. I could have come on to him while he was drunk and lonely. I could have fed his anger at you until it turned into some kind of twisted hatred. But I could never make Magnus stop loving you. You're what he wants, Alec. With you gone there's some piece of him that's irreparably damaged, and while Magnus is broken I'm broken too."

A tear runs down his face, and Josh ignores it. I reach out and brush it away, surprising myself with the gesture. "When I saw your postcard," he says, cheeks flushing a little, "I hesitated. I knew that if I crumpled it up that would be the end of you and Magnus. And for one horrible second I wanted to let it happen. But I didn't, because I do love him."

"But how do you know he still loves me?" I whisper, unwilling to get my hopes up.

"Remember the painting in Magnus's living room?" Josh asks. "The Van Gogh?"

Thinking of Magnus's painting sends another painful jolt through my chest; it reminds me of our first date. I shake my head, and Josh continues.

"Well, Camille had pictures of you and Magnus kissing. She threatened to expose you if Magnus didn't give her the painting, and he did. He gave it to her yesterday, after he found out about Jace. If that's not a sign that he still loves you, then I don't know what is."

My body is being attacked by a maelstrom of emotions: sadness, guilt, sympathy, relief, and overwhelming joy. I don't know what I'm feeling or what I'm supposed to be feeling or what I want to feel. Mostly, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the idea that Magnus still wants me. Magnus still loves me.

Figuring that this is already the most fucked up day of my life, I lean over and envelope Josh in a hug. "You deserve him so much more than I do," I whisper.

I can feel Josh's tears falling on my neck and he quivers in my arms. "I'm inclined to agree with you," he replies. "But it's you that he wants. It's always been you."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two: Magnus

I had forgotten how nice a shower can feel. For the first time since Alec left I feel warm, clean, and sober. No spinning room, no disgusting taste in my mouth, no aching in my head. An aching in my heart, maybe, but there's no amount of coffee or hot water that can get rid of that. The best I can do is snuggle into the couch and attempt to drown my sorrows in Veronica Mars. Maybe some of her badass post-breakup attitude will rub off.

I'm throwing my pillow at the television in frustration when I hear the click of a key in my door. Since Josh is the only one with a key, I don't feel the need to reign in my frustration; he knows what to expect during Veronica time.

"You have terrible timing," I call out. "That horrible part with Logan and his dad is coming on, and I know you hate it."

The door clicks shut softly and I pause the dvd. "Seriously, Josh, maybe you should get a glass of water or – "

When I turn around whatever I was about to say is lost. I can't even remember what I've been talking about. Or what I'm watching. Or what my name is. All I can think about is him.

"Alec?" It comes out as a question, because I'm not sure I trust that he's really here. The most likely explanation is that I'm dreaming. Alec takes a step closer, and I'm suddenly very conscious of the fact that I'm shirtless. I want to pull my blanket up around my shoulders, but it'll make me look like an idiot.

"Magnus." Alec's voice is hoarse and his shoulders are shaking, and I know this can't be a dream. Because no matter how mad I am, even my subconscious can't stand to see Alec hurting. It makes me want to reach out and touch him. To be sure that I don't do just that, I shove my hands under my legs.

"You can't be here," I manage to choke out. "I can't see you right now." It hurts too much.

"I'm not leaving." Alec's voice is steadier now. "Not until I've had time to explain." He walks over and sits on the couch beside me, just at the edge of my blanket. "Please Magnus, while it's just the two of us?"

The thought of Alec sitting here in my living room while I'm half-naked, talking about kissing Jace, is not in any way desirable. My heart starts to race and my hands are cold and clammy against my thighs. Hysteria threatens to overpower me, but I manage to keep it under control. "No," I say. "I don't want to hear it. You have to leave." I stand up and cross my arms over my bare chest. "I want you out of here, and I don't want you to come back."

Alec gets up, and there's such an overwhelming mixture of disappointment and relief that I feel drunk again. However, instead of walking toward the door, he takes a step toward me. It takes everything I have to keep my face impassive. I try to move away, but Alec has me cornered: there's nowhere to go except against the wall. There's a hollow thud as my head hits the surface, but I don't feel a thing.

When Alec is an arm's length away, he stops moving. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I have no idea what he's about to do. Whatever it is, I just want it over with quickly, so I can get on to the deluge of tears that's sure to follow this meeting. "Magnus," he starts. "There's something I have to tell you about the morning I left your house."

Here it comes. My heart twists painfully in my chest, making it impossible to breathe. "I don't want to hear it, Alec," I force out. "I already know what happened."

Alec's hand reaches out and settles against my chest. The seemingly innocuous touch paralyzes me. I want to tell him to move, but I can't speak. I want to bat his hand away, but my muscles won't work.

"You don't know," Alec replies, shaking his head. He moves a step closer. "That morning, when Jace showed up –" Just hearing Jace's name sending a slice of pain through my chest. I suck in a gulp of air and fight to hold back tears.

"You left too soon, Magnus," Alec says, his own eyes shining. "Once I got over the initial shock, I pushed Jace away. I didn't want to kiss him. I told him that I couldn't be with him."

"You did?" I whisper, hoping against hope that this isn't some kind of cruel joke. "Why?"

Alec takes a step closer, placing his other hand on the wall by my head. "Because I don't want to be with him," he says. "Because I'm in love with you."

I can't reply. This has to be some sort of dream.

"I'm so in love with you," Alec continues, his breathing becoming more ragged with every exhalation. "You're all I think about. When I saw you here with Josh I thought I was going to die." His eyes cloud over in pain, and I try to open my mouth to tell him that I was just pretending, that it was all a stupid ploy to hurt him, but his hand feels like fire on my chest, and I can feel his breath on my cheeks, and the sensation of being so close to him is so strong that I'm lost.

"Magnus, I'm sorry for everything." The tears have started to fall, and the added moisture makes his eyes impossibly blue. He's so beautiful it hurts. "I'm sorry I ran away, I'm sorry that I couldn't admit that I loved you, and I'm sorry that I didn't push Jace away in time. I'm sorry for so many things."

He moves his hands so that they're gripping my shoulders, and he looks at me – I mean truly, completely looks at me as if he can see every agonizing thought that's whirling through my mind. "Magnus, I love you. You're perfect. I've never wanted anything more. I – I just hope that I haven't fucked it up."

I don't trust myself to speak, so I just push myself off the wall and into Alec's arms. His hands wrap around my neck automatically, steadying my unsure feet. I press my lips against his, and it's like my whole body is on fire. Every sensation is magnified; the soft fabric of his t-shirt against my skin; his hands running through my hair; his tongue running along my lips; his hips against my legs. I completely give into the rush, drowning in everything that is Alec – letting him take me over completely. We fall against the couch, and with the change in position Alec's tears drip down on my face, tracing cool paths along my blazing skin.

"I love you too, Alec" I murmur when he pulls away. I pull him close, afraid that if I let go all of this will slip away. "I love you so goddamn much."

Alec laughs into my chest; the sound vibrates against my collarbone, sending a shiver through my whole body.

"I feel so light," Alec whispers. His breath tickles my neck and I draw him in even closer.

He kisses my neck and my stomach flutters. "I know exactly what you mean."

Alec nuzzles into me for another second before pulling himself up so that he's kneeling over me. I try not to think of the delicious muscles that helped him complete the movement, but it's useless. I trail my hands up his bent legs and beneath his shirt. He sighs when my hands touch his skin, but much to my dismay, he stands up.

"Where are you going?" I whine, not ready to relinquish my hold. It's going to take at least six hours on this couch to get my fill.

Alec just smiles. "Sit up," he says, walking over to his discarded jacket. He leans down and picks something out of the pockets. An envelope.

When Alec takes a seat beside me, his face is flushed and his hands are shaking a little. He puts the envelope on the table in front of us and threads his fingers through mine. "Magnus," he says, his voice soft. "When I came over here today, it wasn't because I wanted go back to the way we were."

For one horrifying second, I think that Alec is saying that we can't be together, and I can't breathe. My grip on his hands tightens, and he jerks away quickly, pulling me against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he spits out, his eyes widening as he realizes what he's said. "I'm shit with words." He brushes his lips against my forehead and chuckles. "How can you be in love with such an idiot?"

"It's hard sometimes," I say, trying to keep the panic from my voice.

Alec runs his hand down my cheek, and the furious pounding of my heart stills. Everything seems suspended, like the entire world has stopped to focus on this one simple action. "What I meant is that I'm not going to half-ass this anymore." He smiles, that special smile that's reserved for me. I think back to the day I saw him with Jace and I realize that it hadn't been the same. This Alec is my Alec only. "I want the whole world to know you're mine, Magnus."

Alec's words elicit a flood of warmth, but I can't ignore the small flicker of unease suspended in the back of my mind. "There's nothing I want more, Alec," I whisper. "But I don't want you to throw away your future for me. You said yourself that fighting for your country means everything to you."

"It did," Alec agrees. "And for years I served, never stopping to think about how I was hiding who I truly was. Honestly, I didn't care about hiding myself – didn't care that my country was ashamed of what I was, because I was ashamed of myself. But I could never be ashamed of you, Magnus. I never want to hide you or make you feel like you're not the most important thing in my life. I love being a soldier, and I've always been proud of what I do, but if being a proud soldier means that I have to denounce the best thing about my life, then I don't want any part in it."

A small sob escapes my throat, and I fling myself at Alec. "I have to be dreaming," I sob as he pulls me tighter. "This can't be real."

Alec laughs again, and I swear it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "You bet your sexy ass it's real," he says.

I burst out laughing at how ridiculous that sounds coming from Alec's mouth.

"Don't you laugh at me," Alec scolds, grabbing my arms and pinning me back down. The giggle dies in my throat, replaced by something hot and urgent. Alec swoops down to kiss me and I groan into his mouth.

When I try to deepen the kiss, he pulls away with a smirk.

"You little minx," I pout. "That is not fair."

Alec grabs the mysterious envelope from the table. "Just calm down for a second," he says. He reaches inside and pulls out two long, white sheets.

The fluttering in my chest rushes back full force when I realize what he's holding. Boarding passes.

"Alec, what are those?" I ask, knowing full well what the answer is.

Alec goes strangely still, and his gaze slips over to the opposite wall, where my painting used to hang. "Josh told me about Camille," he says lightly. Though he tries to quash any emotion, I can tell from his eyes that he feels terrible. "I know what the painting meant to you, and even though I'll never forgive myself for what happened, I want to try to make it better."

He flips the tickets over so that I can see the black lettering.

Two tickets to Amsterdam Airport Schiphol.

"Amsterdam?" I whisper.

"The Van Gogh museum, beautiful canals, amazing waffles. I can't think of anywhere better to start making this up to you." He runs his fingers up my cheek, wiping way the tears that have managed to leak out. "Plus, my parents are stationed in Rotterdam. I was hoping that I would be able to introduce them to the man I'm in love with." He smiles and leans in closer, rubbing his nose against mine. "How does that sounds to you?"

"Sounds like a dream," I reply, closing the small space between us.

Alec tastes like heaven. Like happiness. Like a promise.

-The End-


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Part I: Josh

I can't remember the last time I was this tired. It's been nineteen hours since Magnus and Alec left for Amsterdam, and I've been online for all of them, using every skill I possess to try to fulfill Alec's parting request: getting Magnus's picture back. Of course, hacking into Camille's network was only part of the problem, as there was no guarantee that she had even kept the incriminating pictures to begin with. If she was smart, she would have destroyed any trace of them – taken out the hard drive on which she'd saved them and smashed it to bits. Fortunately, intelligence doesn't seem to be one of Miss Belcourt's strong suits. Beauty, sex appeal, and cunning; in those areas she could be a match for Magnus himself. But Magnus has something Camille doesn't: me. And that's why I'm sure that Magnus will come out on top of this whole situation.

It takes me a little over ten hours to actually find the pictures. Once I have them, I need to find the best way to expose them. A little sifting through Camille's inboxes unearths contacts at several of the biggest gossip rags in the country, and by the time another hour has passed, I've composed several emails that sound exactly like they were spit out by the viper herself. Child's play.

Time is the most sensitive variable in this operation. Getting Magnus's picture back depends on doing everything in exactly the right sequence. First, the photos of him and Alec can't be leaked too early, because Alec wants to tell his parents himself. But they also can't be leaked too late, in case Camille has some way of finding out that Alec has outed himself and the pictures become worthless. Finally, I have to find a way to encrypt my fabricated emails so that even if Camille is using her account, she won't see any of the correspondence I'm setting up with her various contacts. On top of that, I have tapped her phone lines just in case someone calls to confirm that what she's sending isn't some kind of joke. So, even though no one part of this assignment is overwhelming, getting everything in sync has proven to be absolutely exhausting.

I guzzle my third redbull and fiddle around with the special laptop I'm building Magnus as a birthday present while waiting for Alec's text. I know I have to be ready to jump into action as soon as I hear from him, so I don't chance a nap. Another hour ticks by and I shuffle around my small dorm room, trying to block out the sounds of my wall mate's girlfriend outrageously faking her way through another orgasm. Seriously, if straight guys believe that a couple of drunken thrusts in a dirty dorm bed with awful music playing in the background can make any woman scream like that, they're stupider than I thought.

Still, as a desperate and unconvincing as the sounds are, I do feel a small pang of jealousy that everyone around me seems capable of finding some sort of connection. Whether it's true love or drunken lust, they get to be lost in someone else, to feel the world stop. I brush my fingers across my lips, thinking about my last kiss: a desperate attempt from Magnus to make Alec jealous. Truthfully, being used like that was almost enough to make me leave forever. I had considered walking out of Magnus's apartment and never coming back. But I obviously couldn't, and not just because I'm in love with him. It was because Magnus is more a part of my family than anyone I actually share DNA with, and my unhealthy obsession with him was more my fault than his. Never once, since that first kiss ten years ago, did Magnus ever give me any indication that we would be any more than friends. He was perfect, almost like an older brother, and always careful to never cross any boundaries, no matter how much I wanted him to. Kissing me in front of Alec was cruel, and wrong, and painful, but I owed it to him as his best friend to realize that it was an act born from an indomitable pain, driven by the most desperate recesses of his heart.

Thinking about it now, I realize I'm glad about the kiss. I think it was the last push I needed to accept that Magnus and I were never going to be together. As if the near-sickening displays of affection between him and Alec weren't enough to solidify that epiphany.

I smile, thinking of the two of them together, glad that I can finally be happy without the toxic burn of jealousy scorching a path through me. Sure, I still feel a dull ache when I dwell on the fact that Magnus will never murmur my name in his sleep or brush his lips against my forehead when he wakes up, but I'm glad he's finally happy.

The short ting of my cellphone draws me out of my musings, and I feel a thrill of excitement when I see Alec's text: Everything went fine – parents have not killed Magnus. I have not killed parents. End that bitch.

I chuckle at Alec's message, happy that his desire for revenge is just as strong as my own. Despite the mistakes he's made, I know he really does love Magnus. I enter a few commands on my computer and within five minutes the pictures are sent. I expect within the next few hours they'll be viral. Alec's story is out there for the world to see, and if my estimation of Camille's fear of Magnus's wrath is accurate, Irises will probably be back at his loft within twenty-four hours. I send Alec a short message back, letting him know that the job is done, and then slide my phone into my back pocket. It's just past midnight, but I don't think I could sleep if I tried; too much redbull and too many packs of skittles.

My dorm room feels too small, too empty in light of what I've just accomplished. I feel like a total badass, knowing that I have done something for Magnus that nobody else can, and it makes me bold. I rush out to the communal bathrooms to brush my teeth and put on a little eyeliner, and then head out to a place that I usually avoid with an almost militant intensity: the campus bar.

Before I even get to the door I start thinking that this might be a mistake. The buzz of drunken students permeates the long hallway leading to the bar, and I almost lose my nerve. Then I think about Alec, and everything he's done over the past week, and the strength that Magnus has always had, and I strut forward, flicking the small pieces of my bang out of my eyes. I even go so far as to smile at the guy at the door who checks my id. He gives me a small grin back, and I'm pretty sure he even looks at my ass as I walk up to the bar.

By some miracle, I manage to find an empty chair at the end. There must have been a soccer game today because the team is taking up five tables, chugging beer with a gusto that can only mean that they won. With all the jocks lined up to replenish their stocks, I know I won't be getting a drink for a while. It takes all of thirty seconds to stop scanning the room for a glimpse of a t-shirt riding up and succumb to the siren call of my cell phone. I've been developing a few apps that help first year students study for math and chemistry, and it's easy to get lost in tweaking the programming.

I don't notice that someone has taken the seat next to me until a bottle of beer slides into my peripheral vision. I start, thinking that I've somehow intruded into someone else's space, but when I tear my eyes away from the screen, I'm face to face with Tyler Rose. Tyler Rose, number 21, right wing. Tyler Rose, the reason freshmen girls haul their asses to the soccer field whatever the weather conditions. Tyler Rose, who for some reason, is smiling at me.

"Hi," he says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. He hesitates for a second, waiting for me to answer. Unfortunately, I'm too busy taking in the way his eyes have yellow starbursts at the center and the freckles on the bridge of his nose to be bothered with such trivialities as acting like a normally functioning human being.

"I was hoping you would have a drink with me," he continues, smile unwavering.

"Uh, sure," I manage to force out. I take a swig of the beer, doing my best not to cringe at the taste.

He lifts his own beer and takes a sip. The motion of his adam's apple has me hypnotized.

"My name is –"

"Tyler Rose," I interrupt. He raises his eyebrows and I can't stop myself from flushing. "Well, everyone knows who you are," I mumble.

Tyler laughs. It's a nice laugh – deep and warm. "You're one to talk."

I snort into my beer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean, Josh Fell, that I'm not the only one with a reputation at this school."

My stomach sinks and I push the beer away from me. "So that's why you came over here?" I ask, not bothering to be polite. "To tell me exactly what you and all your friends think of nerdy Josh Fell?"

I push up from the stool, regretting the decision to ever come here in the first place. This kind of shit has been happening since orientation. "Didn't score your fourteenth goal of the season tonight, thought you'd get your kicks somewhere else?"

Tyler gets up from his seat and reaches out to grab my arm. "Josh, wait, that's not what I meant. I swear. Please, just sit down for a second."

He looks sincere enough, but with my track record that doesn't earn him any trust. "Seriously, I just meant that you're like the smartest person in this school. I was in Professor Heinlen's programming class with you, and you were unreal. Honestly."

A small flush has spread across his nose, and he looks upset enough that I sit back down.

I grab my beer and twirl it in figure-eights across the bar. "Fine, then what do you want? Help with school?"

He smirks. "Well, right now I want to know how come you have my stats memorized."

I hate it when people ask me questions like this – testing me to see how much I can really remember. How many digits of Pi do you know, Josh? Can you really recite all of Macbeth by heart, Josh? It's uncomfortable and annoying. I can't stop myself from rolling my eyes. "I know everyone's stats. Rory Ennis: six goals, four assists. Sean Lockler: two goals seven assists. Parker Gaffe: save percentage 0.899. I run the athletics website."

Tyler's eyes flash for a second, and wonder if he's actually so shallow as to want everyone to have his stupid stats memorized. Still, the look is gone so quickly I feel bad making such a judgment.

He takes another swig and then reaches out to touch my hair. "I like the purple." He's close enough that I can feel his breath on my face, and I flush even deeper than before.

"My friend Magnus's stylist does it," I say, trying my best to cover my reaction. "I could give you her number if you want."

"Well, I guess you could. But I was kind of hoping you'd give me yours instead."

I choke on the mouthful of beer I've just taken. "Excuse me?"

Tyler laughs again, but it's a little less smooth this time. "I thought you were the smartest person at this school? I've been trying to hit on you ever since I came over her."

"Hit on me?" I repeat like some kind of circus parrot. "Why?"

"I told you," he says, grinning. "I like the hair."

"Yes," I blurt out.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll give you my number," I clarify. "I mean, you can have it. This isn't a joke right? Like, soccer initiation? Well, that would be silly, since you've been on the team for two years, but – "

Tyler presses his finger to my lips and I try my best to repress a shiver. "Josh, shut up. It's not a joke."

I take another drink to keep from talking and just nod my head.

"I was hoping, maybe you'd like to go out with me."

I still can't talk. Too dangerous.

"On a date," he continues. My God, he's going to think I'm some kind of non-talking freak.

"Sure," I manage to force out, hoping that I can appear at least three percent suave and not one hundred percent fumbling dorkazoid. "That would be cool." Cool? That would be cool? Oh sweet and holy Mother of programming, this has to be a prank. I'm un-askoutable.

Miraculously, Tyler doesn't seem to think so. "Awesome," he says, handing me his phone. "Would tomorrow be too soon to call?"

Without Magnus here I have no fucking idea what the right answer to that question is supposed to be, so I decide to go with it. "Tomorrow would be perfect."

Part II: Alec

Magnus has just started to snore softly when his cellphone starts buzzing. The sound is magnified a hundred fold against the hard plastic of the tray that separates our two seats from those across from us, and I reach out to snatch it before it can wake him. The message is from Josh.

Josh: I HAVE A DATE. WITH A SOCCER PLAYER. AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN ON THE SAME CONTINENT. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

I laugh softly and put the phone back on the tray, deciding that it's best to leave that message for Magnus to answer. Unfortunately, I'm at about Josh's level when it comes to getting asked out by hot guys. I still don't understand what the hell Magnus is doing with me.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Magnus shifts a little in his sleep and nuzzles his head into my lap. The seats on this train are barely large enough for a dog to curl up on, but somehow Magnus has managed to fold himself up in such a way that he's reaping the benefit of both our spots. Not that I mind. I run my fingers through his hair, the same feeling of incredulity that's been around ever since we made up at his apartment keeping me giddy and wide-awake. Though it's only six thirty in the morning – my parents could only meet with us at five AM, much to Magnus's displeasure – I can't even think about sleeping. Just sitting here, watching Magnus dose comfortably in my lap is enough to make this barely-started vacation the best time of my life.

Magnus sleeps for half the train ride and spends the rest of it texting Josh in some sort of matchmaking fury, googling pictures of the boy he's going out with and asking me for advice – because apparently I "know what it's like to have all my fantasies brought to life by a stunning and mysterious stranger". By the time we arrive at the station in Amsterdam, Magnus is full of energy and ready to explore.

He's so worked up and excited to see the city, that even my attempts to trap in him the hotel room are fruitless. Part of me wants to sulk at being so blatantly ignored, but Magnus is bouncing off the walls like a kid on Christmas morning, and it's too adorable to resist. We decide to find somewhere to eat breakfast and then spend the rest of the day just exploring the city.

Being on vacation comes with myriad new rules. For instance: when you're on vacation, ice cream crepes drizzled with chocolate and whipped cream are a perfectly acceptable – or perhaps the only acceptable – breakfast food. We share a heaping plate between us, and I have to admit, having Magnus pressed up against me and spooning scoops of dessert into my mouth makes me forget that it's only nine in the morning. Which leads to another rule of Magnus's: kissing can take place at any time in any place while on vacation. At first, I was wary of making out in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but the taste of Magnus and vanilla ice cream, and the warmth of his tongue against the icy ting of the food proves too much to resist. Besides, after only a half an hour in this city, I can tell that public displays of affection aren't only accepted, they're pretty much expected. The couple beside us is making complete puppy eyes over their plates of waffles, and there are two girls – who I'm pretty sure are also North American, judging by the Canadian and Texas state flags on their backpacks – quietly kissing in the corner.

Rule number three I learn pretty quickly after we leave the cafe: don't even try to decide where you're going to go, because there's no overruling Magnus. From side streets, to coffee shops, to flower markets, to – in what constituted the most embarrassing hour of my life – an array of sex shops, we manage to hit almost every major stop in the city by the time the sun starts to set. Of course, on the way back to the hotel, Magnus fills me in on the day by day itinerary he has formulated for the next week. I have no idea how we're going to fit everything in that he wants to do, but I know that right now I would dance naked through a sex museum if he asked me to. Walking down the street to our hotel, my fingers laced through his, feels like a dream. I never thought it was possible for one person to be so happy.

Part III: Magnus

When we get back to the hotel, I realize how much the day has worn Alec out. He collapses on the bed, moaning into the pillow and I feel a rush of shame. I can get a bit carried away sometimes, and I should have known that Alec would never actually let me know when he was tired. I toss my shopping bags on a chair and crawl into bed beside him, pulling his back into my chest and nipping at his neck.

"Did I wear you out before we could really have fun?" I murmur in his ear.

He whips a pillow out from under his head and reaches behind to smack me in the face. "Shut up, Magnus. Everything hurts."

"Poor baby," I hum under my breath, leaning forward to kiss his neck. "I'm sure I bought something that can make it all better."

"I doubt it," he harrumphs into the pillow. His sullen attitude is not really having the effect it's supposed to, unless I'm supposed to think it's absolutely adorable.

I bounce off the bed, slapping Alec's ass as I go. Then, with no fanfare, I dip the contents of my shopping bags on the bed beside my cranky boyfriend. Sensing untidiness, Alec's head snaps up – probably to reprimand me – but whatever reply he's cooked up promptly disappears as he takes in the fruits of my shopping labors.

"Mangus, what the hell is all of that?" he manages to splutter out, his face as red as the cherry flavored lube I'm holding.

I grin innocently. "Souvenirs, obviously."

"Souvenirs?"

"Yup!"

He picks up a pack of condoms and turns them over in his hand. "So who's going to be the lucky recipient of the Statue of Liberty condom?"

"I was feeling patriotic," I reply, snatching the packet from him.

"I'm sure," he snorts, sifting through the paraphernalia.

I slap his hands out of the way so I can search for what I want. I pick up the things I don't need right now – rows of colorful condoms, chocolate sauce, a purple vibrator, some postcards, a pair of handcuffs – at which Alec flushes deep crimson –, a sparkly blindfold, heaps of actual chocolate, some scarves, the cherry lube – and throw them back on the chair until I find what I actually want: a bottle of heating massage oil. Before Alec can recover from his minor shock, I flip him over onto his back and whip his t-shirt over his head.

He tries to sit up. "Magnus, what are – "

"Shhh." I shut him up with a kiss. "Let me take care of you."

Alec raises his eyebrows, but I don't get any further complaints. I put the bottle of massage oil down by his head, and take my time kissing down his jaw, enjoying the way his body shivers when I trace my tongue along his skin. There was a time when I would have never taken the needs of my lover into consideration, but tasting Alec's skin, feeling the tight flexing of his muscles, and hearing my name tumble from his lips is unlike any pleasure I've ever received – a combination of love and arousal that can't be described.

I kiss my way down his chest, stopping at his waistline to rid him of his jeans. Once they're gone I rub my hands up and down each leg, paying particular attention to the one I know to be sore. Emboldened by our location perhaps, Alec makes no attempt to mask his groans of pleasure, and the noise soon pulls me from his calf muscles toward more exciting destinations.

Popping the top off the oil, I flick my finger at Alec, signaling him to roll over on his stomach. He does so, if only just to hide the faint pink that is spreading across his cheekbones. Truly, I've never seen anyone more beautiful. Once I knead my well-coated fingers into his shoulders, Alec lets out a small whimper, and I can't stop myself from attacking his neck. I trail kisses along each side as my fingers continue their work, taking each short intake of Alec's breath as a personal achievement. From there, I run my hands along his back, admiring the way his shoulders flex. I try not to imagine what those muscles could do to me, since this is supposed to be all about Alec, but it's hard to not envision being slammed against the wall with Alec inside me.

Once my hands make it all the way down to his boxers, I make quick work of them, my own breath catching at the sight. Alec really does have a heavenly ass. I've never seen one to rival it. I bend down, running my tongue along the tight muscle, and Alec gasps. I bite down lightly, and find myself pushed to the side as Alec flips over to grab me.

"You're being such a tease," he growls, pulling me up so I'm lying on top of him, my pants grinding into his erection. "It's not fair."

"Oh really?" I say, quirking an eyebrow. "What is it that you want me to do?" I slip from his grip, and begin kissing down his chest again, nipping harder this time.

Alec's hands fall into my hair, pulling lightly, and I have to stifle a moan. "Tell me, baby," I murmur. "What do you want?" I run my tongue across the strip of skin beneath his navel.

His grip on my hair tightens. "You know what I want."

"Tell me," I demand. I know it's cruel, but I could listen to Alec whimper all day.

"I want you to – "

I run my thumb over the tip of Alec's erection, effectively cutting off his sentence. "Yes?"

Alec knots his fingers in my hair and pulls me up so that we're at eye-level once again. "Suck my cock, Magnus" he growls, blue eyes practically glowing with lust. "Do it now."

I don't need to be told twice. Hearing Alec growl like that is almost enough to get me off. I slide completely off the bed, letting my knees hit the hotel room floor, and pull Alec over with me. He lifts himself up, and I descend, blowing him with an uncontained fervor. Amsterdam must have something in the fucking air, because with each bob of my head and hollowing of my cheeks, Alec's exclamations get dirtier and dirtier, words flying out of his mouth that I thought I'd have to wait months to hear. His hands knot tightly in my hair and he thrusts my head forward with enough force to cause pain, but I don't even care. In fact, the steady guidance of Alec's hand makes it easier to unzip my own jeans and slide my hand inside, taking care of myself at the same rhythm of Alec's blowjob.

As Alec finishes, he tugs so hard on my hair that the sharp jolt of pain mixed with the infinite pleasure of feeling him come and hearing him cry out my name brings me to the edge as well. I can't stop from moaning this time, and I don't quite manage to swallow everything in time. A small dribble of Alec's come drips out of my lips, and just when I thought Alec couldn't do anything else to surprise me, he leans forward and licks it off. I fall back on the floor, completely drained of the ability to do anything.

Alec laughs and despite my lack of cognitive faculties, the noise still manages to send a flood of warmth through me. He tosses a pillow on the ground beside my head and climbs down to the floor to nestle into my side. After I sidle out of my pants, he throws his leg over mine and I hook the blanket with my foot and drag it down on top of us.

Alec kisses my neck before draping his arm across my chest and I feel like there's no way that my life could possibly be this perfect. This has to be some sort of dream.

"I love you, Magnus" Alec murmurs, his breathing already getting deeper.

I wrap my arms around him, drawing him as close as possible. "I love you too," I say, before drifting off to a dream-filled sleep in which we put every one of my "souvenirs" to excellent use.


End file.
